#SANDS When It Stars to Rain

[reilemon]

Beneath The Abyss - pt. 2

⚠ MINORS DNI (18+ ONLY) ⚠ ♡︎ part 1

♡︎ synopsis: Though it's only been a few days, you miss Rafayel too much. So you decide to go visit him, the full moon illuminating your path.

♡︎ pairing: merman!Rafayel x fem!reader

♡︎ tags: almost no plot, fluff, smut, just a tiny bit of merman heat i guess, multiple orgasms

♡︎ word count: 5.9k

♡︎ a/n: well, here's the sequel. maybe this summer i'll write some more for merman!Rafayel.

♡︎ Thank you to my dearest friend and my beta reader ♡︎@its-de♡︎ for helping.

divider by @/anitalenia

The air is warm and heavy, still carrying a trace of the rain from the past few days. Streetlamps cast their golden glow, their light turning streets of cobblestones into scattered amber. A soft hum of cicadas fills the quiet, mingling with the voices of people who are passing by, and still sitting in cafes.

You walk side by side with Thomas, carrying a small paper bag with dessert, a token of the dinner you’ve just shared—a simple meal in a quiet restaurant, filled with laughter and memories of childhood.

“I’m glad you could make time tonight,” Thomas says, his voice warm and genuine. “It’s been ages since I’ve had a night like this.”

“You’re the one who always says he’s too busy to visit.” you tease, nudging him lightly with your elbow.

He chuckles. “True. And I’m here more for work than leisure.” he admits, glancing down the street. “On top of the exhibition preparation, I somehow need to find time to visit the beach house.”

“Oh right.” You glance at him. “Your grandmother…”

He nods. “It’s a beautiful place, but I haven’t had the time to do much with it.”

“Do you need help?” you offer instinctively. “I could—”

He gives you a faint smile. “I’ll let you know when I make some room in my schedule.” His gaze shifts back to the street ahead, his fingers brushing thoughtfully over his chin. “Maybe one day I’ll turn it into a proper getaway spot.”

His idea stirs something in you—a thought, half-formed and fleeting. You tuck it away for now. “Sounds like a good idea to me.”

Thomas hums in agreement. “I think so. I don’t know why my grandmother held on to it all these years, even after she stopped going. There must be something special about it, you know?”

You nod, wondering the same thing.

Slowly you reach a familiar turn, and you glance up instinctively. Above, the night sky is adorned with glittering stars and a bright full moon. For a moment, its beauty takes your breath away—but then a memory seeps in.

Rafayel had mentioned this week would bring a full moon, his tone serious. “Don’t come,” he had said, his hand brushing your arm tenderly. “I - ... Full moon… strong.” But that night had felt so far away then, the days stretching endlessly. Now, you’ve endured three nights of relentless thunderstorms since that intimate night by the cove. Three long nights without seeing him. The ache of missing him pricks in your chest, and you make your decision.

“Thomas,” you say, glancing at him. “I’ll be fine from here.”

“Are you sure?” Thomas’s brow furrows slightly with concern. “It’s late.”

You nod with a reassuring smile.

He lets out a sigh of resignation. “Alright. But promise to text me when you get home.”

“I promise.” you say.

Thomas watches you for a moment longer. “Goodnight, then.” he says finally, stepping closer, his arms pulling you into a familiar, warm hug.

“Goodnight.” you reply, stepping back and watching as he continues down the street. When he disappears around the corner, you take a deep breath and, with a determined turn, you leave the main road behind. The air grows cooler as your feet take you down the hidden path toward the sea, each step quickening your heart.

₊‧.°.⋆🫧•˚₊‧⋆.

The cove is illuminated under the full moon’s silver glow. The air smells fresh, tinged with salt and the faint remnants of rain, and as you step onto the sand, you brace yourself for chaos. You expect the aftermath of the storms to greet you—branches tangled with seaweed, leaves and litter scattered haphazardly. But instead, the sight makes you pause. The debris has been moved, branches and leaves piled to the side, leaving the shore surprisingly pristine.

Your heart stirs as you glance around. Was it him?

You take a few more steps, scanning the water, the shadows, and the rocks along the shore. Your purse slips from your shoulder, and you place it carefully on the sand along with the bag of dessert, but your eyes are fixed elsewhere. You squint at the surface of the sea, searching for a hint of movement, for the unmistakable glimmer of dusky purple hair catching the moonlight. Minutes pass, and your excitement begins to fade into disappointment. Maybe he isn’t here after all. You sigh, reaching for your belongings with reluctance. You glance one last time toward the horizon, feeling the ache of the past few nights without him.

But then—movement. A subtle shimmer far in the distance, not the moon’s light on the water but something else - two glowing specks, faint but unmistakable. Your breath catches, and your heart leaps. Those aren’t reflections—they’re eyes. His eyes.

A smile pulls at your lips, and you straighten instinctively, the heaviness in your chest fading away. You take a step closer to the edge of the water, unable to keep from whispering his name softly into the night, the sweet sound of your voice carried by the gentle breeze. Those glowing specks blink once, twice, and then, they begin to move closer.

He closes the distance so quickly, it steals your breath. Though you know Rafayel is a faster swimmer than any human, you’re still taken aback by the sheer speed with which he moves. In mere seconds, the water ripples against your legs, and before you can fully process it, he’s sitting by the shore. You sink to your knees in front of him - no words are exchanged. His arms are around you almost before you’ve settled, pulling you into a tight embrace. You bury your face against his shoulder, breathing in the scent of the sea that clings to him.

You’re the first to pull back, but only just enough to lift your face to his. Without hesitation, you lean in, brushing your lips against his in a kiss that’s gentle at first but deepens as his eagerness matches yours. His hands linger on your back, firm yet tender, drawing you closer even as your lips meet again and again.

When you finally pull back, your breath mingles with his, and you truly meet his gaze. The sight makes you pause. His eyes are sparkling blue and pink sapphires — brighter than you’ve seen them before. For a moment, you think it must be the reflection of the moon tricking your eyes, shining his already unique features with an otherworldly light. His hands linger at your waist, his touch soothing you even as his mesmerizing gaze makes your heart race.

Then his hand trails up and brushes your cheek, leaving wet trail on your skin. “I tell – I told you, to not come.” His voice is soft, but there’s a note of discontent in it.

You hesitate for a moment. The truth—that you missed him so much it ached, even after just a few days—sits on the tip of your tongue, but saying it feels almost too vulnerable. So you put on a teasing smile. “Well… you came too.”

He searches your eyes for a moment, before he exhales and a chuckle leaves his lips. “I know… you will come.” he says, his voice laced with that familiar teasing warmth.

Your cheeks flush, and you drop your gaze for a second before lifting it again. “What’s the big deal, anyway? Look at the moon.” You nod towards the sky. “Wouldn’t it be a pity not to gaze at it together?”

Though you pointed at the moon, your eyes catch the moonlight reflected on the iridescent scales of his tail, on the ethereal features of his face. Tonight he seems to be glowing brighter. His skin feels warmer beneath your touch, a subtle heat radiating through the arm still wrapped around you. Your curiosity stirs, but before you can ask, he leans in. His breath tickles the side of your neck, and then you feel him take a deep inhale as he takes in your scent.

He pauses, his head tilting slightly. “Smell… different.” he murmurs.

His closeness sends a shiver down your spine. “Different?” you ask.

He doesn’t respond immediately, his fingers tightening slightly at your waist. His nose brushes lightly against your shoulder, then slides along the curve of your neck, before nuzzling his neck against yours, scales and gills grazing your skin.

“Better now.” he murmurs, his voice low. His cheek presses against your neck for a moment longer before he finally pulls back, his eyes meeting yours.

You laugh softly, his nuzzling leaving a warm, lingering sensation on your neck, and a little confusion on the reason behind the gesture. Then your eyes land on the bag you brought, and an idea strikes you.

“I brought something for myself,” you say, reaching for the bag beside you. “But maybe you’d like to try it?”

Rafayel tilts his head, his gaze following your movements. “Try?” he echoes.

You pull out the takeout box, opening it to reveal the neatly arranged fruit dessert. The scent of ripe grapes, sweet peaches and sugar fills the air. “It’s mostly fruit,” you explain. “I know you probably don’t eat human food, but this is light. Maybe just one bite?”

He studies the dessert with an unreadable expression, his gaze flickering between it and your face. “Safe?” he asks.

You nod. “No harm in trying, right?” Your tone is gentle, almost coaxing, as you scoop a small portion with the wooden fork, holding it out toward him.

For a moment, he hesitates, his eyes narrowing slightly, but then, slowly, he leans forward and takes the bite.

You watch him closely, waiting for his reaction, as he processes the unfamiliar texture and taste. His brows lift slightly, and you can’t help but laugh at the faint look of surprise on his face.

“Sweet.” He pauses, considering, before he nods towards the dessert, “More… please?” he asks with a hint of eagerness that makes you smile.

You scoop another small bite, holding it toward him again. “Only if you say it’s good this time,” you say with a teasing smile.

He blinks, considering, before a giving you a playful smile. “Good.” he says simply, leaning forward for another taste. You chuckle softly, watching him savor the unfamiliar flavor.

“This is the first time we’ve eaten together.” you realize out loud, the thought slipping out as you lower the fork. The two of you exist in such different worlds—what seems small and every day for you, feels significant here, under the moon’s glow, with him. But the thought doesn’t linger, not with the way he’s looking at you now—like you’re the only thing anchoring him to this moment, to this world.

As you feed him the last bite of the fruit dessert, grateful that he can stomach it, you start talking about your past few days. You tell him how the storms rattled your windows at night, about the way the streets smelled fresh after the rain finally stopped. Then, with an absentminded smile, you mention how Thomas had been in town, how he invited you to dinner, how you spent the evening catching up over warm food and old stories.

Rafayel doesn’t say anything – but his jaw tightens, his lips parting slightly as if to speak, but no words come. You don’t notice. Or, rather, you assume his silence is just his usual way of listening. You continue talking, oblivious to the way his tail flicks against the water just a little harder than before, or how he glances toward the sea for a fleeting second, his expression unreadable.

The gentle rhythm of the waves lulls you into the moment, their sound blending with Rafayel’s soft breaths as he watches you. But suddenly, a wave rolls in further than expected, sweeping over the shore and drenching the bottom half of your dress. You gasp, startled at the chill.

“Oh no…” you mutter, standing up and bunching up the soaked fabric. Normally, you’d shrug it off—every night you’d have come prepared, a swimsuit beneath your dress ready for the sea. But tonight, you hadn’t planned to come here. The realization that your underwear is wet as well makes your cheeks flush.

Rafayel tilts his head, watching your movements with that familiar curiosity, “Cold?” he asks, his brows furrowing slightly as his gaze flickers to your dress. His concern is genuine, but his observation only makes your cheeks burn hotter.

“It’s fine,” you say quickly. “I just wasn’t… prepared for this tonight.”

You tug at the hem of your dress again, the wet fabric sticking stubbornly to your thighs. Rafayel watches you closely, his bright eyes tracking every movement.

“Wet dress bad?” he asks.

You glance at him, scrambling your brain on how to explain the sensation he has probably never felt before. “Not bad,” you say, still fidgeting with the clinging fabric. “Just uncomfortable.”

Rafayel moves closer to you, his eyes taking in the wet dress clinging to your figure, the fabric outlining the curves of your body. His brows furrows slightly, and then, with a simplicity that catches you completely off guard, he says, “Take it off.”

You blink at him, torn between laughter and disbelief. Then the realization washes over you - you’ve never been completely bare in front of Rafayel. Even the night you were most vulnerable, you still had your dress on.

Rafayel shifts closer, his eyes never leaving yours as he reaches out, his fingers grazing the hem of your dress. He doesn’t speak, but the silent encouragement is clear in his gentle yet insistent tug. You exhale a shaky breath, your hands trembling slightly as you reach for the zipper at your side. The fabric slides down your body, pooling briefly at your feet before you place it onto the dry sand.

Rafayel’s eyes soak in the sight of you in just your underwear, taking in every dip and curve of your figure. “Beautiful.” he murmurs. His hands reach out, slowly sliding over your calves, stopping just below your knees, the touch sending goosebumps up your legs. Then his lips meet your skin, placing feather-light kisses along your knees and up toward your thighs. His fingers glide over your hips, until they reach the lace edge of your damp underwear. He pauses, his eyes meeting yours again, as if searching for permission.

You nod, heart racing in your chest under his unwavering attention. He hooks his fingers under the lace and slides them down slowly, the fabric clinging slightly to your damp skin before pooling at your ankles. You step out of them, the cool night air brushing against your newly bare skin.

When you glance down at him, the sight catches you off guard. His face is flushed, a bright pink brushing across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. He looks at you like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again, and in some ways, he is. The sight between your thighs is one he discovered only a few nights ago, yet it feels like a lifetime to him, one he’s missed painfully in the days apart.

His gaze lifts to meet yours again, and the pure longing in his expression makes you tremble. Slowly, he takes your hand and guides you down, leading you to straddle him, his tail curling slightly beneath you to support you both.

“Beautiful.” he murmurs again, the word barely audible. His hands settle on your hips, holding you there.

A gasp catches in your throat as your bare skin presses against his scales. The sensation is entirely new—cool, smooth, almost impossibly slick against the heat pooling between your thighs. You feel the distinct ridge of his sheath beneath you, the faint bulge growing against your most sensitive parts. Before you can process the new sensations, he leans in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. His hands trail upward, gliding over your sides, while your fingers clutch his shoulders at first, steadying yourself against the strength of his grip. But soon, they drift upward, tangling in the damp, wavy strands of his hair, and you find yourself pulling him closer, needing more of him.

Your hips begin to move instinctively, rolling against him slowly. The slick scales rub against your sensitive folds, the ridge of his sheath pressing in a way that sends jolts of pleasure up your spine. A soft moan escapes you, muffled against his mouth, and the sound seems to spur him on. Rafayel’s hands move again, sliding up to your shoulders and then to the thin straps of your bra. He tugs them down until they slip off your shoulder. His lips part briefly as he pulls back, his glowing eyes fixed on the fabric still covering your chest. His fingers toy with it, and then he tries to pull it up, but the clasp holds firm.

You realize what’s happening immediately, a soft smile curling on your lips. He doesn’t understand how it works. It’s endearing, the way he fumbles slightly, his expression focused yet confused.

“Here.” you murmur softly, reaching behind you. With ease you unhook your bra, and slip it off, tossing it beside your dress on the sand.

Rafayel freezes for a moment, his eyes drinking in the sight of your bare chest. His lips part slightly, as if he’s about to speak but has forgotten the words. His fingers skim along the line of your collarbone before trailing downward. Rafayel’s glowing eyes lock onto yours, his pupils dilated with arousal, watching you as his hand moves to cup your breast. His thumb brushes over your nipple, the touch light and hesitant at first.

A soft moan escapes your lips, and you arch into his touch. “Like this.” you whisper. You take his hand, pressing it slightly firmer against your skin, showing him the right pressure. His lips part, and he nods faintly, his hand following your lead. Then, his head dips, his lips brushing against the soft skin around your nipple. The kisses are almost cautions at first, but they grow bolder as he gains confidence. His tongue flicks out, wet and warm, tracing delicate circles before his lips wrap around the sensitive bud.

You gasp softly as you feel it—the firm, heated length of him slipping free from its sheath. It presses against your folds, gliding against your sensitive skin.  Your hips roll against him, earning a muffled groan from Rafayel. It’s warm and firm, sliding with ease against your slickness as you grind against him, each movement drawing quiet, breathy sounds from your lips.

Rafayel’s lips remain relentless, his mouth moving from one breast to the other, sucking, licking, and nipping at the sensitive peaks while his hands knead and tease. Each movement of his lips and fingers draws soft gasps from you, your body trembling as the pleasure builds rapidly.

The sensation of the tip catching your clit with each grind of your hips sends jolts of ecstasy through you, your moans mixing with his, his tail flicking restlessly behind you as his own need grows.

“I—I’m -” You can barely form the words, your breath hitching as your orgasm rips through you. His hands steady your hips, guiding your movements to prolong the bliss coursing through you, his eyes watching you fall apart. The sensation of your climax against his cock pushes him to the edge. A moan escapes his lips as he latches onto your mouth in a hungry kiss, drinking in your whines, his chest heaving against yours. His body tenses beneath you, his tail curling slightly as his release spills between your bellies. For a moment, both of you are caught in a haze of your shared release, your breaths mingling as the sound of soothing waves fills the silence.

As your breathing slows, you begin to stir. You expect him to soften and your mind shifts to cleaning up, checking on your dress, and resuming the lighthearted conversation you had earlier. But he is still hard, still insistent between your folds. A faint shiver runs through you as Rafayel’s grip on your hips tightens.

“More.” he murmurs against your lips.

Before you can process his request, his hands move your hips, lifting you slightly, aligning the tip with your slick entrance. He moves slowly, his glowing eyes watching your face, and with a nod you encourage him to continue. As he begins to lower you, his body trembles beneath yours, a low groan slipping from his lips as your warmth begins to envelop him. The stretch is slow at first, as he wants to give you time to adjust to his size, but then his control falters—his hips buck involuntarily, thrusting his length deeper into you.

A gasp escapes your lips, and his hand cups your cheek as he whispers a small sorry with a shaky breath. You can feel the restraint in his voice, the tremor of his hand and in his heavy-lidded eyes, which only makes you crave more of him. You lower yourself fully, your clit pressing against his pelvis as he fills you completely.  Rafayel’s eyes flutter closed, his head tipping back slightly, exposing the smooth line of his throat. The sound he makes is guttural, raw, the kind of noise that sends heat coursing through your veins.

You press your palms against his chest for balance as you start to move. Rafayel’s hypnotizing gaze locks onto yours again, his hands griping your hips as he guides you, his hips moving to meet yours. The rhythm between you builds quickly, the slick friction of his member against your walls drawing breathy moans from your lips.

Then, just as you feel another wave of pleasure approaching, Rafayel stills.

The sudden stop catches you off guard, your hips pausing as you look down at him. He tilts his head slightly, frowning as if he’s straining to hear something just beyond your perception.

“Rafayel?” you whisper.

He doesn’t answer immediately, his focus locked on something in the distance, while his arms move to wrap around your waist, holding you firmly in place.

“People.” he murmurs finally.

You glance over his shoulder, your heart racing, though you can’t hear anything beyond the soft crash of the waves. “Are you sure?” you ask, your voice barely above whisper.

He nods, his expression more alert. His tail shifts again, and in one fluid motion, he flips you on top of your dress, his body covering yours completely. His arms and tail curl protectively around you, shielding you from sight even though it’s him who is truly at risk. His body remains still, tense above yours, yet the sensation of him buried so deeply inside you is impossible to ignore.

Your heart races beneath him, a strange mix of confusion and arousal coursing through you. You part your lips to whisper his name, to ask what’s happening, but before you can do so, his hand gently covers your mouth. “Sorry.” he whispers. His gaze doesn’t leave the horizon, his head tilting slightly as if straining to catch a sound only he can hear.

Then, slowly, his hips move. It’s subtle at first, but then his length slips out and sinks in further with every roll which has you gasping against his hand. His breath catches, a soft groan rumbling in his throat as his hips find a steady rhythm. Even as his attention remains on the distant sound, his body betrays him. Your muffled moans spill against his palm, your back arching to meet his thrusts.

After a few more strokes, Rafayel exhales sharply, his hand slipping away from your mouth, and you only have a second to breathe in before his lips crash against yours. His hand grabs your cheeks as his teeth graze and nip your lips, before his tongue slips between them, tangling with yours. His smooth pelvis smacks against your clit as he picks up the pace, sending electric jolts of pleasure through you.

Just as you begin to lose yourself in the rhythm of Rafayel’s body moving against yours, he stills again. His eyes narrow slightly, focusing somewhere above you.

“What is it?” you whisper, wondering if he heard people in the distance again.

Before he can answer, your phone starts ringing, the sound jarring against the intimacy of the moment. You glance toward the bag where the screen is faintly lighting the inside. “It’s probably Thomas,” you mutter, brushing it off. “I’ll call him back later.” You shift slightly, but Rafayel’s hand tightens on your waist, holding you in place.

“Thomas.” he repeats, his gaze now on you. Then, after a moment, he nods toward the bag. “Answer.” he murmurs, his voice low and firm, though his gaze is far from neutral.

You blink, your body still buzzing. “Really? It’s not important—”

“Go,” he says softly now. “Answer.”

He slips out of you as he speaks, the sudden emptiness almost making you whine. His hands leave your waist just long enough for you to roll onto your front, reaching toward the bag and fishing out the phone. The screen flashes Thomas’ name, and with a resigned sigh, you accept the call.

“Hey, Thomas.” you say, doing your best to keep your voice steady.

Rafayel doesn’t wait though. The moment you’re distracted his hands begin their gentle exploration of your hips and thighs, his fingers tracing over your skin with maddening leisure. You press your face against your arm, trying to steady your breathing.

“Just wanted to check,” Thomas says, his voice warm and friendly, completely unaware of the situation you’re in. “You didn’t message me like you promised. Are you home safe?”

“Y-yeah,” you stammer, your voice wavering as Rafayel shifts slightly behind you. His hands slide towards the curve of your buttocks, kneading and cupping the soft flesh, his touch lingering as though committing the sensation to memory. “I’m fine. Just… uh, got distracted.”

Thomas chuckles softly, his tone light. “Glad to hear it. Actually, I was wondering—my schedule just changed, and I’ve got some free time tomorrow morning. I thought it might be a good chance to visit the beach house. Do you still want to come with me?”

Rafayel leans forward, his lips brushing over the base of your spine, the light kiss sending shivers through you. Then he settles between your legs, aligning himself with your entrance, the tip pressing teasingly against you before he pushes back inside in one fluid motion. You squeeze your eyes shut, struggling to focus on Thomas’ words as Rafayel begins to move.

“I - I’m not sure,” you manage, your voice catching as Rafayel’s thrusts grow more greedy. “I’ll have to check.”

“That’s fine,” Thomas replies. “The place is pretty secluded, though, and I’m not too familiar with the area. But I’m sure you’ll know how to get us there.”

Rafayel’s hips snap forward suddenly, his cock grazing all the right spots inside of you. Your lips part in a soft gasp, but you quickly bite it back, hoping the sound doesn’t carry through the phone. His hands grip your waist firmly, guiding you to meet his rhythm. The wet slap of his hips against your butt grows louder, and you can only pray Thomas can’t hear it over the call.

“I—uh—probably.” you stammer. Your fingers clutch at the phone desperately, while you bite the back of your free hand. Rafayel leans forward, his breath warm against your back.

“Is everything okay?” Thomas asks, concern clear in his voice. “You sound distracted.”

“I’m fine!” you blurt out, your voice higher than intended. Rafayel chuckles softly against your ear, the sound low and teasing, before his hips roll forward again, the force of his movements pulling another muffled moan from your lips.

“I’ll text you later!” you hang up before he can respond, the phone slipping from your hand as a soft moan escapes your lips.

“Everything okay?” Rafayel repeats Thomas’ question, his voice laced with amusement. The faint smirk on his lips doesn’t escape you as you look over your shoulder, his eyes glinting with self-satisfaction as he watches your flushed face.

“You’re sneaky.” you say, your voice half-accusing. You know it’s impossible for you to be annoyed at him.

Rafayel tilts his head, his expression feigning innocence. “Sneaky?” he echoes. “Don’t understand.”

You roll your eyes, but the small laugh that escapes you betrays your exasperation. “Oh, I think you do,” you reply, your voice softening.

Rafayel’s hands trail upward, brushing over your waist as his body leans closer, his weight pressing against your back. His lips hover near your ear, his breath warm as he murmurs, “You feel… good?”

There’s a flicker of something vulnerable in his tone, as though he’s searching for reassurance.

You nod quickly, the words tumbling from your lips without hesitation. “Yes. So good, Rafayel.”

The smile that spreads across his lips is subtle but genuine. He leans further over you, his chest pressing against your back as his hand slips lower, his fingers seeking out the bundle of nerves he’s learned to coax so well. Your breath hitches as he begins to circle your clit, your hips instinctively pushing back against him. He presses more insistently, finding a rhythm that draws sweet moans from your lips.

“Good?” he asks again, his movements unwavering as his fingers draw you closer to the edge.

“Yes,” you gasp, your hand gripping his arm that rests next to you. “You feel so good inside me, Rafayel. Don't stop.” you manage between shaky breaths, the praise slipping out without thought. The words seem to spur him on, his fingers quickening just slightly, enough to push you over the edge.

The orgasm hits you in a rush, your body shaking beneath his as you cry out, muffling the sound against his bicep. Rafayel murmurs something soothing in your ear, his hand slowing but not stopping as he guides you through the aftershocks, letting you feel every last pulse of pleasure.

He waits for you to catch your breath before he moves, his hands slipping under you to lift your body with ease and turn you onto your back. Rafayel hovers above you, his elbows supporting his weight on either side of you, his chest pressed lightly against yours, his warmth enveloping you as his gaze locks onto yours.

For a moment, the world seems to narrow to just the two of you—the glow of his eyes, the warmth of his breath, the weight of his body. His hand moves to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin as his lips part.

“I missed you,” he murmurs. His hips shift slightly, his length filling you again. “Always… want to be close. Always.”

His words send a shiver through you, the vulnerability in them tugging at your heart. You reach up, your hands sliding into his curls, pulling him closer until your foreheads touch. “I missed you too,” you whisper. “So much.”

Rafayel’s lips find yours again. The kiss is slow, tender, relishing in the quiet moment you have together. His hips move in rhythm with the kiss, each thrust slow and deep, as though he’s savoring every second, every inch of you.

As your lips part, the intensity of his gaze never wavers, his eyes searching yours as his movements grow more urgent, what little restraint he had quickly vanishing . His cock throbs inside you, the sensation intensifying as his hips drive deeper, the wet slide of his thrusts accompanied by the soft, breathy sounds spilling from his lips.

“Rafayel.” you whisper against his lips.

At the sound of his name, his body shudders, his rhythm faltering for a moment before his hips snap forward again, harder this time. “Close,” he rasps, his voice breaking. “So… close.”

You hold onto him tighter, your arms wrapping around his back, while your legs lock around his waist, pulling him flush against you.

And then, with a low, strangled moan, he buries himself deep inside you, his release spilling into you in hot, pulsing waves. His entire body tenses, his arms trembling as he holds himself above you, his forehead resting against yours.

Rafayel’s lips brush against your temple as the tremors in his body begin to subside. His arms tighten around you, pulling you impossibly close until you feel every flex of his muscles, every erratic beat of his heart. You close your eyes, letting yourself melt into his touch, his warmth, his presence—completely enveloped.

The moment his breathing evens, he lowers himself beside you. His arm rests on your waist, pulling you close, his body curving slightly to shield yours as though the world outside your bubble still holds threats. You rest your head against his shoulder, your fingers trailing lazily over the smooth scales of his tail. After a while, you glance up at him. His eyes have softened, the primal need subsided, but the faint blush on his cheeks remains.

“Are you okay?” you murmur, your voice soft.

He nods slowly. “Good… now,” he says. His fingers trail lightly down your arm, as though reassuring himself that you’re still there, still with him.

You smile, your fingers tracing idle patterns over his chest. But the memory of his earlier warning lingers. “You know,” you say, your tone turning playful, “I think I’ve figured out why you told me to stay away tonight.”

His eyes widen slightly, and the faint blush on his cheeks deepens. “Why?” he asks cautiously.

“Well,” you begin, propping yourself up on your elbow. “You’ve been so… sensitive tonight. Fidgety. Like you couldn’t sit still. And, I mean…” Your lips curl into a teasing smile. “I think you’ve been very affected by the moon.”

Rafayel’s cheeks flush a deeper shade, and he averts his gaze, his lips pressing into a pout. “Not… fidgety.” he mutters, his voice defensive but lacking conviction.

You laugh softly, leaning in to nuzzle his neck. “Oh, you definitely were. You didn’t want me to see you like this, huh?”

His arms tighten around you, pulling you closer. “You… tease.” he grumbles.

“Maybe a little,” you admit, kissing his jaw. “But only because it’s so obvious now. You’re adorable when you blush, you know.”

He lets out an almost exasperated sigh. Then, his lips curve into a faint smirk, and he tilts his head to meet your gaze. “Tease… dangerous.”

You laugh softly, tilting your head to look at him. “Dangerous? How so?”

His eyes narrow playfully, “I can… do this all night.” He leans in closer, brushing his nose against your cheek as he adds, “Cutie.”

The word catches you off guard, heat blooming in your face. “C-cutie?” you stammer, meeting his gaze.

He tilts his head, savoring your reaction. “Yes,” he says simply, his smirk widening. “You… blush more. I like it.”

You bury your face in his chest, your laugh muffled against his skin. “You’re impossible.” you murmur, though the warmth spreading through your chest betrays your words.

“Cutie.” he repeats, teasing lilt fading into affection. His fingers trace lazy circles along your back as he presses a kiss to your temple.

The world beyond this moment doesn’t matter—not the sea stretching endlessly behind him, nor the land you call home. Your hearts are bound by something neither of you fully understands, something that defies logic and fate. Maybe the future is uncertain. Maybe there will always be questions without answers, problems without solutions. But here, in his arms, wrapped in his warmth, everything seems possible.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

@sapphic-daze @effervescent-unicorn @damatically @m1gota @hanaluxx @girl-who-lives-in-delusion @totallytaurus4 @poisonf0rest @grabby-smitten

[glamourscat]

୨ৎ Beautiful as...? BLLK edition

BACHIRA, CHIGIRI, BAROU, KAISER, RIN, ISAGI, REO, NAGI, SHIDOU

Bachira: beautiful as a fair carnival

His light and contagious smile can brighten a whole room. His presence, in a way, makes you feel like a child again. Running around and seeing the world through “naive” eyes. Staring off in space taken aback by the bright, colourful lights. High on way too much sugar. Seeing the beauty in life, aware that there are dangers and challenges out there, but for now, not knowing them is better than anything.

Chigiri: beautiful as spring

When the leaves come back, filled with life and green. Bright, vibrant flowers dot the grass. He is a splash of color that persists even on the darkest days, a lingering reminder that “everything will be okay.” The sun will shine again tomorrow.

Reo: beautiful as the ocean

The calm waves, the sea breeze and that distinctive seaside smell. The sand between your toes, the warm embrace of the sun and the cool water wrapping you in a blanket of shivers and warmth at the same time.

Shidou: beautiful as a museum

Different artists, different paintings, different forms of art. A carefully threaded puzzle filled with emotions, explosions of thoughts, liberty, and need. The need to scream, to ensure someone hears it. The need for a revolution. The hope that someone will remember you.

Kaiser: beautiful as a thunderstorm at night

Not everyone likes it, but many still enjoy it. The clouds fill the dark sky, illuminated by occasional flashes of lightning. It can give you chills just as it can give you comfort.

Isagi: beautiful as the moment after it stops raining

The smell lingers in the air, following you wherever you go. The sky starts to open up, grey clouds mixing with white and the sky is turning a lighter shade of blue. The faint sun rays start to poke through, a welcome touch against your cold skin. The few drops of water still present on the leaves of the trees might, or might not, fall on your head as you walk under them.

Nagi: beautiful as heavy snow

That serene feeling of no school, no work, no worries. The streets filled with mountains of snow, cold yet inviting to jump into. At first glance, soft yet hard and firm. Playful and forgiving when it wants to.

Rin: beautiful as a summer night

Nothing is forever. Summer, just as it came, will end too. It’s the feeling of looking out of your window, smelling the scent that’s unique to summer. Hearing the night insects’ serenade in the distance as you look at the stars with nothing particular on your mind. There’s a nostalgia hitting you, you’re not sure why. Your chest feels a bit heavier and emptier at the same time. You find yourself closing your eyes to soak in this feeling.

Barou: beautiful as fire

Destructive in some cases, yet warm and comforting in others. Wild and untamable. You think you have the upper hand but one piece of wood too much and everything is ablaze. Only the most skilled know how to control it. Not tame it, but understand it. Being able to turn the wild, bursting flame into something softer, something that feels like home.

© GLAMOURSCAT (all rights reserved. do not share, modify, translate and re-upload my work outside of tumblr)

[shaiyasstuff]

losing game | sylus

synopsis : Loving him was like reading stars. Beautiful. Distant. content : a little angsty blurb inspired by : Losing Game - Gen Neo

You finally left.

It didn’t feel like a decision at first. More like surrender—like your hands had simply forgotten how to hold on.

You didn’t slam the door. You didn’t cry.

You just stood there for a moment, heart clenched in your throat, and then stepped into the stillness beyond him.

No slammed doors. No cruel words.

There was nothing dramatic, nothing sharp.

No final argument to dress the wound.

Only the soft hush of your leaving, like a dream unraveling in slow motion.

You had every reason to shout, to demand why he couldn’t love you back.

But instead, you left with a silence that said everything he never did.

You were halfway down the hall before he even looked up.

Or maybe he didn’t.

Maybe he just stood there, still as stone, pretending the moment wasn’t slipping through his fingers like sand.

You’ll never really know.

That’s the cruelty of it—how memory blurs when it’s fed too long on silence.

You think, perhaps, he did inhale. Just once.

A breath caught sharp in his chest, as if he meant to call out, meant to break the silence with something softer, something desperate.

But nothing came.

The words stayed buried—trapped beneath that familiar armor of his, beneath pride and fear and every unspoken thing he never gave you.

The air behind you still smelled like you.

Warmth, quiet, rain.

And still he didn’t stop you.

Didn’t speak. Didn’t move.

And somehow, that hurt more than if he had screamed.

More than if he’d begged you to stay and then ruined it anyway.

You wanted resistance.

You wanted to be held back.

To be wanted.

But Sylus had always been a man who let storms pass.

Who watched them from behind glass, dry and untouched. Never trying to catch the rain.

And now, you were just another storm—grey, gone, and unnamed.

There was something in the way he stood—too careful, too controlled.

As if moving would break whatever fragile truth kept him upright.

As if he could trick the moment into staying by not disturbing it.

You’ve never known someone who could burn so quietly.

His eyes—those deep, volatile shades of red—watched you like fire behind frost. Flickering. Unreachable.

And even now, you aren’t sure if they were watching you, or merely the shadow you left behind.

You told yourself he was cold.

You needed him to be cold.

Because if he was hurting too, if this silence was a weapon, then you could be angry.

But if it wasn’t—if he simply didn’t feel it, didn’t feel you—then what you had wasn’t love.

It wasn’t anything.

And that thought, that unbearable thought, would unmake you.

It would peel the shine off every memory, until even the brightest ones dulled and rotted in your hands.

Outside, the world felt too quiet.

The kind of quiet that isn’t peace at all, but absence.

That heavy, pressing hush that settles into your bones like the echo of a scream you never released. The city continued on—indifferent.

Somewhere, people were laughing. Doors opened. Glasses clinked.

And still, your world had gone still.

You couldn’t tell where the ache ended and you began.

It filled you. Defined you.

And you carried it like a phantom limb, pretending it wasn’t there while feeling it always.

He lingers in everything now.

In the scent of ozone before a storm, in the brush of wind against your cheek as you walk alone.

In the way you sleep curled toward the side of the bed he never filled.

Even in the way your hands tremble when you pour tea, like your body hasn’t realized you’re alone yet.

Like it’s still waiting for his voice in the quiet.

For his breath on your neck.

For a morning that never comes.

You still hear him sometimes.

In the back of your mind. In the hollow of memory.

That low voice, quiet as sin, murmuring your name like it was meant only for him to say.

And even though you know it’s not real, even though it’s only echo, you turn toward it.

Every time.

You tell yourself you’ve moved on.

That you’ve put him behind you.

But your fingers still hover over his name.

Still scroll too far. Still check for a message that never comes.

And you hate yourself for it.

Hate the way you still hope.

But love makes beggars of us all.

And you were never good at wanting quietly.

Because Sylus isn’t a man who will admit defeat.

Not even to himself.

Especially not when it means revealing what lies beneath the surface—those fragile, buried things he never lets see daylight.

You spent so long trying to find them. To hold them.

But loving him was like reading stars.

Beautiful. Distant.

And always out of reach.

He gave you just enough.

Just enough to keep you tethered.

Just enough to make you believe.

Even when it hurt.

Even when it broke you.

Because pain, in his arms, still felt like intimacy.

Still felt like something shared.

You waited.

Always.

On the edge of his silence like it was sacred.

Like your patience could teach him how to speak softness.

Like your warmth could melt whatever winter lived inside his chest.

But love is not a language he’s fluent in.

And when you leapt, arms wide and heart open, he watched.

Still. Silent. Unmoving.

Now you look up at the stars, and you tell yourself they don’t remember you.

That the moon does not care.

But some nights, when the sky is clear and your hands aren’t shaking, you wonder if he’s looking too.

If he feels it—the ghost of your love still wrapped around his ribs.

You know he won’t come.

That if he were going to chase you, he would have by now.

But still, your heart stutters at every unfamiliar footstep.

Still, you hold your breath when the wind shifts.

Still, you wait.

Because if he ever did return—tired, broken, late—you know you’d open the door.

And you wouldn’t even ask why.

—•

You didn’t slam the door. That’s what stays with him most—the silence of it.

The way you left without ceremony, without anger, without asking him to stop you.

You just, left.

And that silence was louder than any goodbye.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t move.

He watched you go with that same unreadable expression he’s worn for years, the one that masks more than it reveals.

But inside, something broke. Quietly. Precisely.

Like glass cracking beneath pressure you can’t see.

He tells himself he was thinking. Calculating.

Letting you go for your own good. But that’s not the truth.

The truth was, he was afraid.

Afraid that if he reached for you, he wouldn’t be able to let go.

That if he let the words out, they would come out wrong—or worse, not come out at all. So he stayed still.

Because stillness is easier than vulnerability.

Because silence feels safer than saying the wrong thing.

Because somewhere along the line, he convinced himself that distance was love in its purest form.

But now the distance is all that’s left.

And it’s not love.

It’s absence.

It’s your mug still sitting untouched on the counter.

It’s the faint scent of you on the collar of his coat.

It’s the shape of your body beside him in bed, outlined in memory and nothing else.

And he lives with it. Quietly. Efficiently.

Like he lives with every scar. Every regret.

He does not chase ghosts, but that doesn’t mean they don’t follow him.

He thinks of you at odd hours—when the lights are low and the city has gone quiet.

When even the machines around him fall silent, and there’s nothing left to distract him from himself.

He’ll think of your voice, soft and patient.

The way you’d say his name like it was something fragile.

The way you always waited—too long, he realizes now—for him to meet you halfway.

And he never did.

Not truly.

Sometimes, his hand hovers over his communicator.

Fingers brushing the screen like your name might appear there on its own.

He never sends a message. Never types a single word.

Because what could he possibly say now that would matter?

You deserved more than apologies delivered too late.

More than a man who could calculate the trajectory of time, but never find the courage to say I love you out loud.

He watches the stars at night, not because they bring comfort, but because they remind him of you.

Of all the nights you spent looking up together, side by side, wrapped in something soft and unspoken.

He wonders if you’re still doing it—gazing at the same stretch of sky, thinking of him the way he thinks of you.

Not with hope.

But with ache. With that quiet ache that only comes from love left unfinished.

He tells himself you’re better off now.

That you’ll find someone who doesn’t need to fight against himself just to reach for you.

Someone who won’t mistake silence for safety.

But he doesn’t believe it. Not really.

Because no one will see you the way he did. No one else will carry your name like a secret they’re afraid to speak.

Still, he stays where he is.

He doesn’t knock on your door.

Doesn’t ask for another chance.

Because to do that would mean admitting what he’s known since the moment you turned away—that he loved you.

That he still does.

And if you were to open that door now, if you stood there with hurt in your eyes and forgiveness on your tongue, he doesn’t know what he’d say.

But he knows what he’d do.

He’d step forward, at last.

Not with certainty, but with need.

With hands that shake.

With eyes that finally show the storm he never let you see.

But the door stays closed. The silence remains.

And Sylus—he mourns you the only way he knows how.

In stillness.

In shadow.

In the quiet wreckage of everything he never said.

masterlist

[humaling]

catharsis.

pairings: finnick odair x reader

summary: weeks of supressing his emotions, finnick finally breaks down when he's got you back in his arms.

warnings: depictions of ptsd and dissociation, brief mentions usage of needles, the usual hunger games

word count: 5.1k

author's note: i wrote this in the middle of my writer's block

The beach is emptier than usual. It looks larger too—vast and surreal beneath the high-noon sun, which blazes from a sky so blue it almost hurts to look at. Wisps of clouds drift lazily above, forming and dissolving into shapes that never settle. The ocean, painted in shifting bands of teal and indigo, breathes with a rhythmic hush. Each wave spills onto the shore with a soft sigh before retreating, whispering secrets back into the sea.

They crash in hollow roars that fade into fizzing foam, while seabirds wheel overhead, their cries sharp and echoing in the openness. Somewhere farther down the beach, a laugh—light and familiar—breaks like fragile glass before the wind carries it away.

The air is thick with the scent of salt and sun-warmed driftwood, undercut by something deeper—earthy, ancient, like the breath of something slumbering beneath the tide. Finnick can taste the salt on his lips, sharp and mineral, as if the sea had kissed him and left its mark.

Sand clings to his damp feet, gritty and warm. Every gust of wind carries a fine mist of saltwater that cools the sunburn on his skin. The breeze tugs through his hair, tangling it with strands of seaweed scent and ocean musk.

Tiny crabs dart in and out of their holes like whispers with legs, and gulls strut just beyond the waves, pecking at sun-bleached shells. Footprints scatter across the sand, only to vanish one by one under the tide’s reach.

There’s a strange stillness in the pauses between waves, a momentary hush that feels like the world holding its breath—trying to remember something it once lost. The horizon stretches wide and endless—not with promise, but with a quiet kind of sadness, the kind that makes you feel beautifully small.

Then he hears it.

Soft. Sweet. A voice he knows better than his own.

“What are you doing, Finn?”

He turns his head and sees you standing there. You’re wrapped in a white knitted cardigan over your baby-blue sundress, arms folded gently across your chest. Your hair flutters in the breeze, and your eyes—sparkling, alive—are fixed on him like he's the only thing in the world worth seeing. A small, knowing smile rests on your lips.

Finnick smiles back. He steps toward you, slowly, drawn like a tide to the moon. There’s something about the way you look at him—like he’s the one who hung every star in your sky. With each step he takes, your smile widens.

“What are you doing, Finn?” you ask again. But this time, there’s a tremble in your voice—barely there, but it strikes him like a cold wind. There’s fear behind it.

A tear slips down your cheek. He doesn’t understand. What’s wrong? He wants to ask, but the words are caught in his throat like sea glass. He tries to move faster, but with every step forward, you drift farther away.

Finnick frowns, his pace quickening—but you keep retreating. The beach stretches out, impossibly long, the sky too bright, the seagulls crying louder now, shrill and broken.

You’re sobbing. He can hear it now.

“What are you doing, Finn?” you keep asking, over and over, your voice cracking, lost and desperate.

His vision begins to spin—slow at first, then faster. He doesn’t know if it's him or the world around him that’s turning. The sand seems to tilt beneath him. The light sharpens, then shatters. The rhythm of the waves falters. The dream begins to unravel.

The sky dims, just slightly at first—so subtle that Finnick almost misses it. The blue fades into a washed-out gray, like watercolor left too long in the rain. The waves lose their shimmer and start crashing harder, more violently, their sighs turning to growls. The seabirds no longer cry—they scream, their silhouettes swirling above like ash in the wind.

Your figure flickers.

One second you're there, the next you're not—just a distortion in the air, a mirage caught between waves. Finnick blinks hard and finds you again, still retreating, your steps too light to leave imprints in the sand. He calls your name, but no sound leaves his mouth. His throat burns as if filled with salt.

The beach is longer now. Wider. But unfamiliar. The driftwood is gone. The shells, the footprints, all erased. The sand is darker, no longer golden but muddy, slick with something that stains his feet as he runs. The ocean reeks—metallic, thick with copper and rot.

“What are you doing, Finn?” Your voice cuts through the air again, only now it’s cracked. Frantic. You’re crying harder. Your body shakes as if you’re being pulled by invisible strings.

Finnick sprints toward you, but the space between you grows with every breath. The wind howls, cruel and cold now, carrying not sea mist but smoke. Thick, black, choking smoke.

The sky has turned to fire.

And suddenly, the beach is gone.

The sand hardens beneath him, shifts into metal plates and broken earth. Jungle trees rise around him like prison bars, their roots strangling the ground. The air grows humid, heavy with heat and blood and memory. He knows this place.

The 75th Hunger Games arena.

You’re still there—but you’re not standing anymore.

You're kneeling. Wrists bound behind your back. Your dress is soaked in something dark, your hair matted to your face. A bright spotlight swings down from nowhere, bathing you in harsh white light. Everything else falls into shadow.

“What are you doing, Finn?” you whisper again—but your voice is mangled now, forced from your throat like it hurts to speak. Your mouth is trembling. Your lips are bloodied.

He tries to run to you, but his legs won’t move. The more he fights, the heavier his limbs become. The arena floor holds him fast like quicksand.

A figure emerges behind you.

Masked. Gloved. Capitol white. A Peacekeeper? No—worse. A ghost stitched from Finnick’s guilt. One of the ones who watched. Who recorded. Who paid.

The figure steps forward and grabs you by the hair, yanking your head back. Your scream slices straight through Finnick’s ribs.

“What are you doing, Finn?” you cry again, more broken this time. Begging.

“Stop!” he roars—and his body jolts upright in bed.

He's drenched in sweat, soaked to the bone, like he’s just been dragged out of the ocean. It runs down his forehead, jaw, neck, clinging to him in beads and rivulets. His chest heaves with every ragged breath, and his throat burns—dry, scraped raw, like he’s swallowed salt or screamed himself hoarse.

For a moment, he doesn’t know where he is.

The silence is deafening. His hands clutch at the sheets, still reaching for you in the dark. Your cries echo in his ears, and the image of you—broken, wrecked—sends a cold shiver down his spine. He wonders if you’re still breathing. If the nightmare was only a reflection, or if the reality you’re enduring in the Capitol is somehow even worse than his mind could bear to imagine.

He doesn’t know what to do. What to say. Not when he’s here—deep underground in the bunker of District Thirteen, safe and sound, far from the Capitol’s torture chambers and Snow’s control. Here, he doesn’t have to smile, doesn’t have to perform. All he has to do is survive another day. Another sleepless, useless day knowing that you took his place.

And if he had known the truth—that Plutarch never intended to prioritize you—he would’ve never agreed to the plan. Damn Snow. Damn Coin. Damn the so-called freedom they’re all chasing. None of it matters without you. None of it is worth it if you’re being tortured for his sake.

You weren’t supposed to be part of the plan.

You weren’t a rebel, or a soldier, or anyone important to the Capitol—not publicly. You were just a girl from District 4 who loved the ocean, who smelled like salt and sea lavender, who always laughed with your whole chest like you didn’t owe the world a single explanation. You were just his. That was your only crime.

They took you before the bombing ever started.

Snow must’ve known. Must’ve calculated exactly how much leverage you’d hold. Because when the rebels pulled Finnick out of the arena—bloody, broken, half out of his mind—he didn’t know. He had no idea you were already gone.

He only found out after.

They were in the hovercraft, headed somewhere. The wind roared outside the metal shell, and Katniss lay unconscious on the floor. Finnick had been silent for hours, staring blankly at the floor, fingers twitching like he could still feel the arena burning under his skin. His thoughts were barely stitched together, all blood and static and your voice faint in the back of his skull.

Then the hovercraft started banking in the wrong direction.

He glanced up. “Aren’t we going to Four?”

Plutarch paused, fiddling with his earpiece like he hadn’t heard the question. But Finnick could always tell when someone was lying to him. It was a sixth sense by now. The silence gave it away.

He sat up straighter. “I said—we’re going to Four, right? To evacuate the districts?”

Plutarch exhaled slowly. “There’s been a change. We’re diverting. District Four is compromised—we’re returning to Thirteen immediately.”

Finnick's blood turned to ice.

“What do you mean compromised?” His voice cracked on the last syllable. “What do you mean?”

Plutarch’s eyes flicked to Haymitch, then back to Finnick. “She’s gone.”

The world tilted. Everything dropped out from under him.

“What?” he breathed.

“We believe she was taken. Before the bombing began. We didn’t know until it was too late. The Capitol wanted insurance.”

“No. No. No—” Finnick stood so fast the hovercraft lurched. “She’s not a rebel! She’s not a part of this! She’s not—you said she’d be safe!”

“Finnick—” Haymitch tried, but it was already too late. Finnick exploded. Chairs clattered, fists swung, voices shouted. He didn’t remember grabbing Plutarch’s collar, or slamming him into the wall, or the raw scream that tore out of his throat.

“You said she’d be safe!” he shouted again. “You used me! You lied!”

Haymitch had to sedate him that day. Finnick had been shaking with rage, completely undone, his fists bloodied from the way he’d slammed them against the hovercraft walls. Plutarch had barely managed to stumble away unscathed, but not before Finnick roared something guttural and animal, something broken beyond language. It wasn’t just anger—it was grief already taking shape, a kind of hysteria that bloomed in the hollows of his chest the moment he realized you were gone.

When he came to, it was all wrong.

The lights overhead were dimmed, casting a washed-out gray across sterile walls, and the air smelled too clean—like chemicals and cold steel. There was a monitor beside him, beeping softly in rhythmic intervals that matched the frantic thump of his heart. He lay on a thin hospital bed, staring up at the ceiling as disorientation clung to him like fog. His limbs felt heavy, his mouth dry. Everything inside him was humming with something urgent, something scared.

He didn’t know where he was at first. Didn’t remember how he got here. But he remembered you. The last thing you said, the sound of your laughter, the image of your eyes looking up at him like he held the sky in his hands. He remembered thinking you were safe—tucked away in District Four, far from the Capitol, far from the Games. He remembered believing that. Clinging to that.

Then the door opened with a soft click, and the pieces snapped together like shattered glass being reassembled by force. He was in District Thirteen. That much was clear now. He’d been sedated because he tried to kill Plutarch—Plutarch fucking Heavensbee—for leaving you behind. For lying. For pretending this plan didn’t have cracks in it. For sacrificing you in the name of rebellion. His girl. The only part of this world that made sense. Left in the wreckage of a strategy that barely worked.

You weren’t a soldier. You weren’t even involved. But you loved him, and that was enough. Enough for Snow to mark you. Enough for the Capitol to drag you out of your home like you were some sort of threat. Enough for them to use you.

Days passed in a haze of tension, then weeks. Finnick asked every question he could think of—Where is she? Have they seen her? Is there a plan to get her back?—but the answers never changed. No sightings. No updates. Just stammering words and diverted eyes. It was the same every time: no one knew. No one could confirm anything. And silence, Finnick learned, is worse than the truth. Because silence leaves space for the mind to invent horrors.

Then one afternoon, when he was sitting in the cafeteria—half-staring at a cold tray of food he wouldn’t touch—the wall screens flickered to life. The sound came first, the soft applause of a Capitol audience, the too-bright voice of Caesar Flickerman introducing his guest like this was a parade, not propaganda. And then there he was.

Peeta.

His face was pale, drawn, foreign. Not the boy Finnick knew. Not entirely. But through the careful, manicured conversation, through the calculated questions and veiled threats, Peeta’s voice faltered just once. A pause. A name. Your name. A single mention, hidden in the shadows of what he could say.

It was enough.

Finnick stopped breathing. The room spun slowly, like gravity shifted sideways. You were alive. Somewhere, somehow, still breathing. Still fighting. Still there.

But that relief never came.

Because the moment hope ignited in his chest, it turned to ash. If you were alive, it meant you were in the Capitol. Which meant you were in Snow’s hands. Which meant you were enduring God knows what for the simple sin of loving someone the Capitol had already bled dry.

And Finnick knew Snow. Knew the way he twisted love into punishment. Knew how he took pleasure in breaking the beautiful things. Snow had to know what you meant to him. And if he knew, then there were no limits to what he’d do. Not to you.

Finnick swallowed bile. His hands trembled under the table. The noise in the cafeteria faded to a dull roar as panic tightened its grip on his chest.

In his mind, he could already see it. The room they kept you in. Too white. Too cold. Too silent. Surgical lights humming overhead, machines hissing, monitors blinking. Men in sterile coats moving toward you with practiced cruelty. Your wrists bound to metal. Your breath hitching in shallow gasps. And your voice—cracked, strained, calling for him even when you knew he couldn’t come.

He would’ve traded places in a heartbeat. A thousand times over. He wanted to. But he couldn’t. And that helplessness, it made him feel like he was drowning with no ocean to blame.

He spent every night after that curled up in the dark of his bunk, fingers clenched around the pearl necklace you gave him—a keepsake from another life, when love didn’t feel like a weapon. He held it like a lifeline, something to keep him tethered when the nightmares came. When the guilt came. When he imagined your voice on repeat in his skull and couldn’t tell if it was memory or madness.

And even when the tears welled in his eyes, he bit them back hard.

Because crying wouldn’t save you.

But he swore—on the sea, on his soul, on the blood in his veins—if he ever got the chance to bring you back, he would burn the whole Capitol to the ground.

~

"You did well, kid," Haymitch said as Finnick stepped into the control room, where Cressida and her crew were already stationed. His voice was gruff but not unkind, and the hand he placed on Finnick’s shoulder was meant to ground him—to offer comfort. But the tension in Finnick’s body didn’t ease. If anything, it coiled tighter.

His thoughts were chaos. Did the distraction work? Did they get to the Tribute Center in time? Did they find you?

The questions slammed against his ribs like tidal waves, each one louder than the last. His mind couldn’t settle, not until he saw you, not until he knew with certainty that you were out—that you were breathing.

“Where’s…” he tried, but the words caught in his throat, breaking apart before he could finish.

Because if this didn’t work—if the rescue failed—if you were still in the Capitol, or worse, if you’d been lost in the chaos of it all… then what was the point? What was the point of stripping himself bare for the entire world to see? Of reliving the trauma, the pain, the shame he’d buried so deep for so long? If the Capitol still had you, if they took you despite everything—then Finnick didn’t know what the hell he would do. Or who he would become.

“They’re on their way back,” said a soldier at the comms, without looking up. “They got everyone.”

Finnick didn’t wait. He pushed past Haymitch without a word, eyes scanning until he saw Katniss standing at one of the monitors. Her posture was tense, her hand braced against the metal panel, watching the screen as updates flickered across it in rapid, blinking feeds.

He came to stand behind her, and Katniss turned slightly—enough to give him space, enough to let him see for himself.

There you were. Slumped against the side of a stretcher, unconscious, unmoving—but alive. Your clothes were the white hospital gown, your face smudged with soot, but you were there. Real. Tangible. No longer just a figment of his hope. Finnick’s breath hitched, his knees nearly giving out as the weight that had been pressing down on his chest since the arena, since the hovercraft, since the first night without you—lifted, if only slightly.

Still, the sight of your limp body made his stomach twist. You weren’t awake. You weren’t speaking. And he needed to hear your voice like he needed air.

“She’s all right, Odair,” Boggs said from the screen, calm but firm. “She inhaled carbon gas during the extraction, but she’ll recover.”

Finnick closed his eyes for a second and let the words sink in. You’ll recover. That was all he needed. Not perfection. Not instant healing. Just a sliver of hope to hold onto. Just a future to imagine again, one where your laughter echoed against salt air and you weren’t a ghost in his dreams.

You were coming back to him.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Finnick let himself believe it.

When the feed cut out and they confirmed the dropship had landed, Finnick couldn’t sit still.

He was like a storm contained inside four concrete walls, pacing back and forth across the dim room in relentless, sharp strides. His arms were crossed so tightly over his chest it looked like he was trying to physically hold himself together. His jaw clenched, then unclenched. Again. And again. His lips moved with muttered words no one could quite make out, though Katniss was pretty sure he was rehearsing the list of things he’d say to you when he finally saw you. Or maybe it was a prayer. Or a curse. Possibly both.

“Still no update?” he asked for the fifth time in ten minutes, eyes flickering toward the corner where Haymitch stood nursing a lukewarm cup of something caffeinated and miserable-looking.

Haymitch didn’t even glance up. “If I say yes, will you stop wearing holes into the floor?”

Finnick stopped pacing long enough to glare at him. “If you say yes, I might kiss you.”

“Well then by all means,” Haymitch drawled, waving his cup in the air, “keep pacing.”

That earned the faintest laugh from Prim, seated on a nearby bench with a small tablet resting on her knees. She’d been helping with medical inventory, but her eyes kept drifting to Finnick—gentle, understanding. Katniss cracked a quiet smile, shifting in her seat. She was trying to be patient too, though her fingers twitched against her thigh, betraying how much she wanted to see Peeta.

But Finnick couldn’t sit. Wouldn’t.

Because it didn’t matter that you were breathing through a mask somewhere in the medical wing of District 13, safe behind thick metal doors. He hadn’t seen you yet. Hadn’t touched your skin. Hadn’t heard your voice or looked into your eyes to know for sure you still remembered him. That you still knew him. That the Capitol hadn’t carved you into someone unrecognizable.

Every minute they kept him from you was a minute he felt slipping off the edge of sanity.

He turned again, hands twitching now as he made another pass across the room, his footsteps echoing soft but heavy.

Katniss watched him with quiet eyes, unsure of what to say. She had never seen Finnick like this—not in the arena, not even when Annie was mentioned in passing. This wasn’t the charming Capitol darling with the ocean smile. This was someone unraveling, pulled thread by thread in slow, agonizing silence.

Beetee sat across the room, typing steadily at one of the consoles as final data from the rescue uploaded into the system. His voice was soft, absentminded. “They’ll need to monitor her vitals before visitors are allowed. Probably just another hour—standard recovery window.”

Finnick froze mid-step.

Then turned to face Beetee with a look that made Prim’s hand tighten around her tablet and Haymitch lift his head in warning.

“She’s been monitored for weeks,” Finnick said, voice low and tightly coiled. “By people who tortured her. She doesn’t need more procedures. She needs someone she knows.”

Beetee blinked, clearly startled, then nodded. “Of course. I didn’t mean—”

But Finnick had already turned back to the wall, pressing his palms against the cold concrete, like he needed something solid to keep him grounded. His shoulders trembled—not with weakness, but restraint.

Haymitch stepped closer. “They’ll let you in the second they can. You know that, right?”

Finnick didn’t answer. Just nodded once, barely perceptible, like if he said anything else it might undo him.

He leaned there in silence for a long moment, breathing through his nose, trying to keep it together. The room had gone quiet again, save for the hum of the lights and the soft beep of a monitor somewhere down the hall.

Prim stood up and walked slowly toward him, small and steady. She didn’t say anything. Just reached into her pocket and handed him a sealed, wrapped gauze bandage—one of the ones with the calming balm built in. The ones used to help soldiers sleep.

“You’ll want to have something on you,” she said quietly, “in case she wakes up scared.”

Finnick stared at it for a second before his hand closed around it.

“Thank you,” he whispered. His voice cracked.

He was still pacing the moment the announcement echoes—You can see the rescuees now—Finnick moves without thinking. His body surges forward like it’s been launched, instinct overriding everything else. There’s no asking permission, no glancing back. Only motion. Only need. Only you.

The corridors blur around him, concrete walls and fluorescent lights streaking past like ghosts. His feet hit the floor hard, but he barely feels them. Each breath drags in like it’s being pulled through a cracked lung—fast, shallow, ragged. The pressure in his chest builds so violently it makes him feel sick, like the panic is rising into his throat, threatening to choke him before he even reaches you.

Every turn down the bunker hallways is a jolt, each one disorienting, every second spent not touching you a second too long. He blinks, but his vision still spins. There’s a high-pitched ringing in his ears that won’t stop. The world feels distant and too loud all at once, like he’s underwater and the current is screaming.

You’re here. You’re here. You’re here—but the thought offers no comfort. 

Not when the other thoughts creep in faster, darker, louder. What if you’re not the same? What if he walks in and finds someone else wearing your face? What if you look at him and flinch, or worse—look through him like he’s no one at all?

His stomach twists, nausea curling in heavy waves. His hands won’t stop shaking. He clutches the gauze bandage Prim had given him like it’s the only thing keeping him upright, like he’ll fall apart completely if he lets go. His free hand scrapes along the corridor wall as he runs, needing the cold concrete beneath his fingers to remind him this is real, that this isn’t another dream, another nightmare turned sideways.

He can’t stop seeing you in the arena.

Bound, bloodied, sobbing his name through cracked lips.

He can’t stop hearing your voice, begging him in that dream: What are you doing, Finn?

His breath stutters. His ribs feel tight, constricting like iron bands. Everything inside him aches. He thinks of the way you used to look at him—like he was something whole, something safe, something beautiful. And he wonders, with dread thick in his throat, if the Capitol stole that from you. If they took the way you saw him. If they made you forget what they had no right to touch.

He rounds the final corner, stumbling slightly. His knees feel too loose, his body uncooperative, like it’s unraveling just as he’s finally about to reach you. The hallway stretches endlessly ahead, and at the far end—just beyond a flickering strip of lights—he sees it.

The door to the medical wing.

He slows as he approaches it, breath catching in his throat like a hook has sunk into his chest. His hand rises to the keypad, hovering midair as his fingers tremble violently. He punches in the code with more force than necessary, as if that might make the door open faster.

And when it does—when the seal hisses and the door unlocks with a mechanical sigh—he’s hit with the weight of it all. The silence. The sterile scent of antiseptic. The stillness.

Finnick takes a few measured steps inside before settling in the middle of the chaos. Nurses and doctors move quickly around the floor, voices raised with clipped instructions, med carts rattling across the sterile tile. Soldiers stand along the walls, still armed, still tense, their presence humming with post-mission adrenaline.

But none of it mattered to Finnick.

What mattered was you.

You’re sitting on a hospital bed at the far end of the room, near one of the triage bays, hooked up to a monitor that beeped out a steady rhythm—proof, somehow, that your heart hadn’t given up. You hunched slightly under the weight of exhaustion and bruises and whatever invisible thing still clings to you from the Capitol. An oxygen mask hangs across your face, misting faintly with each breath. A nurse beside you is checking vitals, but your eyes aren’t on her.

They’re on him.

The second you see Finnick, your whole body stills—like the air around you thinned, like something in your chest finally unlocked. Your hand trembles as it rises to your face. And then, slowly, with more defiance than strength, you tear the oxygen mask away.

“Wait—miss, you need to—” the nurse starts, but you’re already moving.

Unsteady, barefoot, half-dragging your IV line—but it doesn’t matter. Your legs carry you like you’ve been waiting for this moment for years. You run like it’s instinct. Like it’s the only thing that makes sense.

You throw yourself into him with the full weight of your body, and he catches you like instinct, like breathing, like he was born to hold you. You bury your face into his shoulder, and Finnick sways with the impact, arms wrapping tight around you, fists twisting in the fabric of your gown. You smell like antiseptic and smoke and something raw he can’t name. You’re shaking. Or maybe he is. Maybe the both of you are.

He doesn’t care who’s watching. Doesn’t care if Katniss is near, or Haymitch, or the medics scrambling to grab your IV cord. None of it exists anymore. Just you. Just this.

His chest caves. His knees buckle. He sinks to the floor with you in his lap, your legs tangled in his, your arms looped around his neck. And for the first time in what feels like a lifetime, Finnick Odair weeps.

Not silent tears. Not the kind he’s trained to hide. But full-body, broken, shaking sobs that rip through him like waves crashing against jagged stone. He clutches you harder, tighter, his face buried in your shoulder as if he’s trying to disappear inside the place where you still exist.

“I thought you were gone,” he chokes out. “I thought they took you from me. I thought—I thought I was never gonna see you again.”

You pull back slightly, just enough to look at him. Your eyes are red-rimmed, glassy, wide with disbelief and something deeper—something that still trembles like a wound. Your voice breaks when you whisper, “I thought you forgot me.”

Finnick’s breath catches like it was punched out of him. His hands cradle your face, trembling as they cup your cheeks, your jaw, your temple—anywhere he can touch.

“Never,” he says, his voice wrecked. “I never stopped thinking about you. I dreamed of you every night. I remembered every breath, every laugh, every look. I didn’t forget you, baby, I couldn’t. They would’ve had to carve out my heart to make me forget you.”

You let out a soft, wounded sound and lean forward until your foreheads touch, eyes fluttering shut, your breath mixing with his.

“They hurt me,” you whisper. “But they couldn’t take you from me. Not really.”

Finnick’s eyes squeeze shut. More tears fall. He presses kiss after kiss to your forehead, your cheeks, your lips—soft and reverent, like he’s apologizing with every inch of him.

“I should’ve been there,” he rasps. “I should’ve protected you. I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry—”

“Stop,” you interrupt, your voice firm despite its fragility. Your hands grip the collar of his shirt, your forehead still pressed to his. “You’re here. I’m here. That’s all that matters now.”

And it is.

You’re here.

Alive.

Broken, yes—but still you.

And Finnick has never felt so much relief pour through his body all at once. It’s not quiet. It’s not graceful. It’s ugly, and loud, and shaking. But it’s real.

So he lets it happen.

He sobs into your skin. You cry into his chest. And the two of you sit there on the cold floor of the med wing, clinging to each other like you’re trying to fuse yourselves back together from the jagged pieces the Capitol tried to break.

He doesn’t know how long it lasts.

He just knows that this is the first time in weeks—months—he doesn’t feel like he’s dying.

He has you. And that’s all that matters.

[moineauz]

જ⁀ 𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌 , hsr men !

side comments: i love old jazzy tunes or old songs in general. i usually don't do this kind of fic but i wanted to try something new.

extra: gn reader, fluff, all hsr men except yanqing & misha word count: 434

Other arms reach out to me Other eyes smile tenderly Still in peaceful dreams I see The road leads back to you. 𝐆𝐄𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐈𝐀 𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃 / Ray Charles

Despite age the two of you bustle about; committing your duties be it work or another passion. Perhaps either of you transverse the cosmos. However, when Twilight's wings gingerly take you under its folds, the two of you melt into one like candle wax dripping down its holder. No matter what path each of you treads- you are bound no matter the state. Thus, under the duvet covers and the unspoken lullabies of the night, he presses kisses on your wrinkled eyes like gemstones while slowly caressing your furrowed hand with a gentleness only matched by the lightness of a feather and the warmth of a beating heart. It is instinctive like blinking, like drawing air into the lungs. Rest now in silence for neither of you needed to say a word, another day will come and nights of blossoming devotion will echo into eternity.

𝐆𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐆𝐇𝐄𝐑 . Dan Heng . 𝐃𝐑 𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎 . 𝐋𝐔𝐎𝐂𝐇𝐀 . Gepard . 𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐀𝐍 . 𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈 . Blade . 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐓 . + any of your favourites

Just one look at you My heart grew tipsy in me You and you alone Bring out the Gypsy in me I love all the many charms about you Above all, I want my arms about you 𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 / Judy Garland

Your limbs might not take you far now, but he'll twirl you in the air like a star and tease you until your cheeks ache from laughter. The glimmer and shine of that first date still trails behind the two of you: stardust in the wind, wings that seldom break. You two still share that hidden kiss in public and search for treasures amongst a sea of rust. Giddy and unfettered, the two of you are like birds spinning in the air; chasing each other in fits of uncontrolled laughter. Blush still brushing against your sagging cheeks and the tipsyness of a night still young, his own heart enthralled as the first time he met you. The throng can stare if they want; asking why not sit down? Would you like some help? That's fine, he'll still banter and pursue adoration as if it's not already tucked in his arms. Because despite his gradually wilting eyes and worn-out knees, he'll still bow down and press his head against your stomach, whispering, "mine."

𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐋 . Argenti . 𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐔𝐀𝐍 . 𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐎 . 𝐋𝐔𝐊𝐀 . Gallager . 𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐄 . + any of your favourites

At last My love has come along My lonely days are over And life is like a song 𝐀𝐓 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 / Etta James

The two of you have mellowed over the years, lost some hair and found comfort in blue skies, the pit pat of rain and sand between your toes. Perhaps the two of you find a house in the countryside or build a home on a distant planet found in cup boards and the warmth of an oven. Perhaps you settle under the blanket of the universe; allowing your eyes to trace the sun inching down the walls of your shared home. The two of you spend your days lying languidly on the couch, days drifting into melodies spent well and arms entangled as one. He never would've thought that his heart could slow and his soul mellow like a distant breeze. His eyes drifted towards your figure, a pleasant smile reaching his lips.

𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐄 . Welt . Gepard . 𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐄 . Dr. Ratio . 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐘 . 𝐃𝐀𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐍𝐆 . Jing Yuan . Luocha . + any of your favourites

masterlist.

[pearlprincess02]

dating & dates (pisces version)

pisces: (pisces venus/mars/5th house/7th house)

dating someone with pisces venus, mars, 5th house, and 7th house placements means being with a deeply romantic, emotionally intuitive, and dreamlike partner. they crave a love that feels almost otherworldly—something that transcends logic and exists in a realm of pure feeling and connection. they are highly sensitive to their partner’s needs and emotions, often putting their loved one’s happiness above their own. however, they can be prone to escapism, idealizing relationships to the point where reality may feel like a disappointment. they need a partner who nurtures their dreamy nature but also helps ground them when needed. pisces venus loves unconditionally and seeks a soulful, almost fated connection. they fall deeply and can be hopeless romantics, sometimes blurring the line between fantasy and reality in relationships. pisces mars approaches attraction with a soft, fluid intensity. they prefer intimacy that feels poetic and emotionally charged, often surrendering completely to the experience. pisces 5th house finds joy in creativity, imagination, and deep emotional bonding. they are drawn to artistic or spiritually meaningful experiences in love. pisces 7th house seeks a partnership that feels like a deep, spiritual union. they may attract partners who are dreamy, sensitive, or even a bit mysterious, but they must ensure they aren’t drawn to relationships that lack stability.

date night ideas

visiting an aquarium & watching the underwater world together, a spa day with massages, aromatherapy, & relaxation, a sleepover-style date with soft blankets, fairy lights, & deep conversations (pisces venus, pisces mars) a beach date at sunset, walking barefoot in the sand, attending a poetry reading/spoken word event, visiting a botanical garden filled with exotic, dreamy flowers, watching classic romance movies/dreamy, fantasy films together, writing love letters/poetry to each other & reading them aloud, a rooftop date watching the stars in a quiet, intimate setting, a dream journaling date, sharing each other's subconscious thoughts & fantasies (pisces venus, pisces 5th house) a mystical/tarot card reading date, exploring a dreamy, candlelit bookstore & picking out books for each other, going on a foggy, mystical forest walk together, visiting a dreamy, historical castle/museum with a fairytale-like atmosphere, volunteering together for an emotional, heartwarming cause (pisces venus, pisces 7th house) painting/creating art together in a cozy setting, attending a live music event with soft, emotional melodies, dancing in the rain with no worries about getting wet (pisces mars, pisces 5th house) going to a planetarium to gaze at the stars & dream together, taking a boat ride on a lake/river, just drifting together (pisces 5th house, pisces 7th house)

over 18+ spicy bonus 🔞

pisces: (pisces mars/cupido/eros/lust/amor)

someone with pisces mars, cupido, eros, lust, and amor brings a deeply emotional, sensual, and almost ethereal energy to the bedroom. they view intimacy as a transcendental experience, something that dissolves boundaries between souls. they are highly intuitive lovers, often knowing exactly what their partner wants before they even say it. fantasy, surrender, and deep emotional connection are key to their pleasure, and they thrive in settings where they can let go and be completely immersed in the experience. their energy is fluid and adaptable—they can be soft and submissive one moment, then unexpectedly intense and consuming the next. they crave intimacy that feels like an escape from reality, where love and lust blend seamlessly into something almost spiritual. pisces mars is deeply passionate yet elusive, preferring a dreamy, slow-burning seduction that builds to overwhelming intensity. they enjoy emotional depth and the feeling of complete surrender in the moment. pisces cupido is flirtatious and intoxicating, using mystery and subtle teasing to draw partners in. they love seduction that feels poetic and enchanting, often letting attraction simmer before fully indulging. pisces eros experiences arousal as something almost supernatural, drawn to deeply emotional and surreal sexual encounters. they need intimacy that feels magical, where physical pleasure merges with spiritual connection. pisces lust thrives on fantasy and escapism, often desiring experiences that feel otherworldly. they can be both gentle and overwhelming, seeking to dissolve into their partner completely. pisces amor treats intimacy as an act of unconditional love. they are selfless lovers who seek deep, soul-connecting experiences rather than purely physical encounters.

kinks you might have

dream-like, surreal settings that make intimacy feel otherworldly (pisces venus, pisces eros, pisces lust) deep eye contact & slow, intimate touch as a form of seduction, emotional vulnerability as an aphrodisiac (turning deep conversations into foreplay), romantic, candlelit, ambient lighting settings (pisces venus, pisces eros, pisces amor) soft, teasing touches that gradually build to overwhelming pleasure, lucid dreaming/shared fantasies discussed before acting them out (pisces mars, pisces cupido, pisces lust) prolonged foreplay that blends emotional intensity with physical stimulation (pisces mars, pisces cupido, pisces amor) blindfolds & sensory deprivation to heighten pleasure, fantasy-driven roleplay (mythical, fairytale, supernatural themes), water play (showers, baths, poolside intimacy), music driven encounters, where rhythm & sound guide the experience (pisces mars, pisces eros, pisces lust)being worshipped/adoring a partner’s body with slow, devoted attention (pisces mars, pisces eros, pisces amor) emotional domination & submission (trust-driven power exchange), surrender & trust-based intimacy (being completely at the mercy of a partner/vice versa), completely giving up control & being taken care of intimately, a mix of tenderness & unexpected, uncontrollable passion (pisces mars, pisces lust, pisces amor) soft restraints (silk ties, ribbons, hand-holding control), being seduced in an almost trance-like state (whispered words, soft touches, drawn-out teasing) (pisces cupido, pisces eros, pisces lust) heightening the emotional experience with whispered confessions and deep affirmations (pisces cupido, pisces eros, pisces amor) erotic hypnosis/trance-like seduction techniques (pisces eros, pisces lust, pisces amor)

all observations are done by me !!! @pearlprincess02

main masterlist

[yan-lorkai]

how would the boys react if darling escaped and they caught darling trying to hang themself before being caught again? I'm thinking of idia and malleus, but any other boy that would kidnap them works too

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ﾟ WARNINGS: ATTEMPTED SUICIDE, YANDERE CONTENT.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ﾟ A/n: tbh I read that and immediately thought of Riddle, so we're going with this loveable short king

The rope against your neck was harsh, unforgiving, just like your actual situation, digging into your neck just enough to make you gasp for air as you fought to breathe. Not yet, not yet, you kept repeting. You kept searching for another solution, another way to ran away from this.

You found none.

It felt hopeless, like sand falling from your fingers.

Like trying to swim against the sea.

Like trying to run barefoot amidst flames and broken glass.

You could feel it on your bones; an excruciating pain, an unphantomable feeling that made you sick, as if someone were twisting your guts again and again. Regardless, here were you.

Standing over a chair, reminiscing your short life, your wrongdoings and rights. All those laughters shared with friends, the way you cried after a good movie, feeling like life was good enough to be lived, the sun shining bright on your face, dancing on the rain with your love, pranking your parents. There were so many memories, so much to explore, to do and see.

So much that was stolen because of a miserable man.

You shudder by just thinking of him.

The way he used to touch you, the way he would gaze at you for hours on end, that arrogant smile because he knew you couldn't escape from him. He was wrong. He was terribly wrong, as this wasn't your first attempt but it would be your last.

It would be your last.

That scared you. You gasped for air, the rope was digging even more on your skin now, bringing tears to your eyes as the air was slowly leaving you. You didn't care. It will be ending soon.

All the pain.

All the suffering.

Everything would be just gone.

Or so you hoped. This was a desperate way to escape, and you didn't want to do it, as you loved living more than anything. But you couldn't keep living beside him. Not when you feared breathing and be promptly corrected because you breathed too loudly.

Or because you didn't know each cutlery served what purpose. Or a million other reasons that forced his hand to punish you, to educate you, as he liked to say right after bruising and hurting you, right after he destroyed your hopes and crushed your will.

But no more would he do this.

For no more, you would be here.

If you couldn't escape him while living, you would escape in death.

You kicked the chair from beneath your feet, dangling in the air as a fish trying to breathe out of water. It was suffocating, your nails digging into the rope. Everything; too bright, too loudly. You could feel your veins running over your arms, blood pumping frenetically, your spine aching from how hard gravity pulled you down.

Tears streamed down your face as black dots danced across your vision. At any moment, your spine might snap your neck, and you would die — slowly, painfully.

You hoped so.

You closed your eyes. You accepted Death with open arms, like an old friend visiting after years without contact.

Your body was getting numb now, colder. A fear plagued your chest as more tears still streamed down your eyes, like shooting star falling down the sky.

At some point, because of lack of air, you felt what seemed like hands holding you up and current of air invaded your lungs. It seemed like a distant dream. Everything was so hazy and misty on your mind. As if real and dream didn't had any distinction between them.

But a pair of red eyes staring at you with a maniacal glint proved that this was indeed very real. Few were the times that Riddle expressed what he truly felt - for he was ashamed of feeling those things -, but fear and sadness clogged his eyes as his entire body was shaking.

You didn't realize how or when, but he had cut the rope that you were using to hang yourself with, clinging to your body as if to feel your warmth, your breathing, the lack of strength and fight that left you in this last desperate attempt.

In the end, you were both crying, for different reasons.

[uolarieclosed]

kim sunoo ☆ ! thinking about you

━━━ in which a fake relationship blossomed with a base of true feelings …

BASEBALL PLAYER SUNOO who asked you to be his fake girlfriend because his mom wouldn’t stop pestering him about getting a date for the family wedding they’re attending.

BASEBALL PLAYER SUNOO who couldn’t stop staring at you in your pink dress, shoving his shaky hands into the pockets of his trousers.

“you look gorgeous,” he whispered into your ear as he opened the door to his car—smiling to himself when he saw you blush.

BASEBALL PLAYER SUNOO who picked you out of all the girl pining on him because he knew that what he felt for you would bloom sooner or later.

BASEBALL PLAYER SUNOO who slow danced with you under the stars.

BASEBALL PLAYER SUNOO who gave you his name tag the following day at school, kissing your cheek before he ran off to the baseball field.

BASEBALL PLAYER SUNOO who never expected you to reciprocate his feelings until he found a baseball with your confession on his desk.

BASEBALL PLAYER SUNOO who carries your lunch tray to your table, sitting separately from his friends so he can listen to you talk about your day.

BASEBALL PLAYER SUNOO who takes you somewhere secluded to see the stars after a bad game—reminding him of the night he truly fell in love with you.

BASEBALL PLAYER SUNOO who takes you on small dates at least every weekend. it didn’t matter if it was supposed to be his rest day from baseball.

“sunoo, why don’t we stay at my place?” sunoo shakes his head, tugging you behind him. “i heard the new makeup line that you like just dropped. let’s go buy some.” he slugs his arm around your shoulder, kissing your temple—silently thanking you for looking out for him.

BASEBALL PLAYER SUNOO who gives you his letterman jacket, being the only player to not have his because it’s around your shoulders.

“won’t you get in trouble?” you frown as sunoo slides your hands through the sleeves. “i can always get another.” sunoo ruffles your hair with a complete lovestruck grin.

BASEBALL PLAYER SUNOO who texts you good morning and good night even after his long practices.

BASEBALL PLAYER SUNOO who embarrasses you in front of everybody because he likes when you hug him to hide your hot face from everyone.

“there’s my pretty angel! let me kiss you!” sunoo throws his arms up, his huge smile evident from across the hallway.

BASEBALL PLAYER SUNOO who can get a bit mean during disagreements, however he’s just trying to get his point across even if it’s harsh.

BASEBALL PLAYER SUNOO who loses every hit because he knows you’re not in the stands watching him.

BASEBALL PLAYER SUNOO who stands out in the rain until you forgive him, which you do because he get’s annoying when he’s sick.

“what the hell is wrong with you?” you tug sunoo’s drenched jersey, hoping to pull him inside but instead he wraps his arms around you. “i’m sorry i said all of those things, you’re always going to be the one more me, always. you’re my girl.”

BASEBALL PLAYER SUNOO who won’t let you go the next morning, burying deeper into your pillow and leaving wet kisses along your neck.

BASEBALL PLAYER SUNOO who draws your name in the sand with his bat, pointing back at you.

BASEBALL PLAYER SUNOO who will get in a fight with anyone who bad mouths you or tries to make an advance towards you.

“you know i’m the one she lays next to every night, right?” sunoo shoves the kid, feeling a bit too proud of himself.

BASEBALL PLAYER SUNOO who was set on you being his one and only.

© 2024 uolarie

[sofivison]

ੈ✩‧₊˚ fools gold — sophia laforteza

“I know the difference between what you say and how you feel

I know when it's real”

pairing ₊⊹ sophia laforteza x fem!reader

synopsis ₊⊹ two childhood best friends who fell for each other without knowing the complexities of love. you feel her pulling away and don’t know what to do, but you need her. you can’t lose her.

genre ₊⊹ angst, hurt no comfort

tags ₊⊹ not really gfs, unrequited love(?), sad ending

a/n ₊⊹ first post woohoooo hi guys!! starting off with a good angst (no happy ending sorry) my requests are very open so go fill up my inbox!

The first time Y/N realized she loved Sophia, they were twelve years old, lying on their backs in the grass, staring up at the stars. It was summer, and the heat still clung to the earth even though the sun had been gone for hours. Crickets hummed in the distance, the air thick with the scent of pine trees and turf.

Sophia pointed at the sky, tracing constellations with her finger. “That one looks like a dog,” she said, voice dreamy.

Y/N squinted. “It looks like a cat.”

Sophia huffed. “You just think everything looks like a cat.”

“That’s because cats are better than dogs.”

Sophia gasped, turning to look at her with exaggerated offense. “Take it back.”

Y/N grinned. “Never.”

Sophia tackled her then, their laughter ringing through the night as they rolled across the grass, wrestling until they were out of breath. When they collapsed again, Y/N turned her head to look at Sophia. Her cheeks were pink from the heat, her hair messy and full of little bits of grass. She was beautiful, even then.

Y/N didn’t have the words for what she felt at the time, but she knew, with a child’s certainty, that she wanted to be beside Sophia forever.

—

The beach was always their place.

Their parents took them every summer, and every summer, they raced to the shoreline the moment they arrived, kicking off their shoes and letting their feet sink into the sand. They built castles with moats deep enough to trap the tide, collected seashells in buckets, and dared each other to swim out farther than they were supposed to.

One year, when they were thirteen, a storm rolled in while they were playing in the water. It came fast, turning the sky dark and the waves rough. Their mothers called for them to come back, but before they did, Sophia grabbed Y/N’s hand and squeezed it tight.

“Don’t be scared,” she said. “I’ll hold on.”

And she did.

They ran back to shore, hand in hand, the wind whipping through their hair, the rain soaking their clothes. When they made it to safety, Sophia turned to Y/N with a wild grin. “That was fun.”

Y/N laughed, heart pounding. “You’re crazy.”

“You love it.”

Y/N did.

—

At fourteen, they camped in Sophia’s backyard, staying up all night whispering secrets under a sky full of stars. Y/N brought a flashlight, and Sophia stole her dad’s old radio, tuning it to some station playing love songs from decades before they were born.

Sophia curled against Y/N’s side, their arms brushing as she hummed along to the music.

“Do you think we’ll ever fall in love with people?” Sophia asked.

Y/N swallowed. “I think so.”

Sophia turned her head, her face close enough that Y/N could feel her breath. “What do you think it’ll be like?”

Y/N didn’t know how to answer without saying this. This closeness, this warmth, this feeling in her chest that made her stomach flutter and her head feel light.

Instead, she shrugged. “I guess we’ll find out.”

Sophia smiled like she already knew.

—

They had their first kiss when they were fifteen.

It was late, and they were in Y/N’s room, curled up under a blanket, watching some terrible movie they’d already forgotten the name of. Sophia turned to her suddenly, a look in her eyes that made Y/N’s breath catch.

“Can I?” Sophia asked, voice quiet.

Y/N nodded, and then Sophia cupped her face, and kissed her, soft and slow.

It was nothing like the movies. There were no fireworks, no dramatic music swelling in the background—just the warmth of Sophia’s lips, the steady beat of Y/N’s heart, and the knowledge that something between them had changed forever.

When they pulled away, neither of them said anything. They just looked at each other, eyes searching, waiting for something neither of them knew how to name.

Sophia smiled first, pressing her forehead against Y/N’s. “I love you.”

Y/N’s heart nearly stopped.

“I love you too,” she whispered.

They never talked about it after that.

—

The years passed, and they kept kissing. In secret, in quiet places, always just between them.

They said I love you more times than Y/N could count. In text messages, in hushed voices at sleepovers, in laughter after shared jokes. It became as natural as breathing.

But they never talked about what it meant.

And now, at twenty, Y/N was starting to think that Sophia had stopped meaning it.

It was in the little things—the way Sophia took longer to respond to messages, the way she pulled away first, the way her laughter didn’t sound quite the same anymore.

At first, Y/N told herself she was imagining it. That she was overthinking, being paranoid, reading too much into things.

Maybe I’m crazy.

But even a fool can tell the difference between pyrite and real gold.

And Y/N was no fool.

Sophia was slipping away, and Y/N didn’t know how to hold on.

But she needed to.

Because Sophia was the enormous sun, burning bright and untouchable, and Y/N was just a candle, melting away in the heat.

And now, that sun was dimming before the candle had even burned out.

It wasn’t fair.

And it didn’t make sense.

Y/N didn’t know when it started—when the distance between them became something real, something tangible, something more than just paranoia creeping into the corners of her mind.

Maybe it had been slow, a shift so small it could have been mistaken for growing pains. Or maybe it had happened all at once, sudden and irreversible, like a fire burning through everything they had built together.

Either way, Y/N felt it now, heavy in her chest, in the spaces where Sophia used to be.

They still saw each other. They still talked, still laughed, still exchanged I love you’s like they meant something. But Y/N could feel the difference. Sophia’s touch wasn’t the same—not as lingering, not as sure. She pulled away too quickly, smiled too easily, as if she were performing a role she no longer wanted.

Y/N told herself she was being dramatic. She told herself that if she just held on tighter, things would go back to the way they were.

So she tried.

She sent the first text. She made the plans. She reached for Sophia’s hand, even when Sophia’s fingers barely curled around hers in return.

She kissed her first.

Sophia still kissed back, but it wasn’t the same.

It wasn’t the same.

And Y/N couldn’t ignore it anymore.

—

One night, they sat on the beach, just the two of them. The waves rolled in gentle and slow, the air cool against Y/N’s skin. It should have felt like every other summer they’d spent here, but it didn’t.

Y/N watched Sophia instead of the ocean, memorizing the way the moonlight hit her face, the way her hair moved in the breeze.

Sophia was quiet, running her fingers through the sand absentmindedly.

“Do you ever think about when we were kids?” Y/N asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Sophia glanced at her, smiling softly. “Yeah. All the time.”

Y/N swallowed. “Do you miss it?”

Sophia hesitated. It was only a second, maybe two, but Y/N caught it.

“Of course I do,” she said, but there was something in her voice that made Y/N’s stomach twist.

It wasn’t a lie. But it wasn’t the truth either.

Y/N looked away, staring out at the waves. “Sometimes I wish we could go back.”

Sophia was silent for a long time. Then—

“Why?”

Y/N clenched her jaw. She could feel the answer sitting on her tongue, bitter and painful.

Because back then, I didn’t have to wonder if you loved me.

But she couldn’t say that. She couldn’t say any of it.

So instead, she forced a laugh, shaking her head. “No reason.”

Sophia didn’t push.

And somehow, that hurt the most.

—

Y/N spent the next few weeks trying to convince herself that things weren’t falling apart.

She clung to every smile, every touch, every fleeting moment that felt like before.

But the doubt never left.

Because now, every time Sophia said I love you, Y/N wondered if she meant it.

And even worse,

She wondered if she ever would again.

—

The sand was cool beneath Y/N’s fingers, a familiar comfort against the stark fear blooming in her chest. The waves whispered secrets to the shore, a constant, rhythmic reminder of time slipping away. Beside her, Sophia threw pebbles into the ocean, her movements fluid and careless, a world away from the turmoil brewing inside Y/N.

For twenty years, Sophia had been her sun. A radiance around which Y/N’s world revolved. Their lives were intertwined, woven together with shared secrets, laughter, and a love that was beneath the surface, never explicitly acknowledged but always there.

Y/N watched Sophia, the way the setting sun painted her skin gold, the way her brow furrowed in concentration as she aimed for a distant wave.

“Sophia,” she started, her voice barely a whisper against the roar of the ocean.

Sophia glanced at her, a small smile playing on her lips. “Yeah?”

Y/N swallowed, the lump in her throat feeling like a jagged stone. This was it. The moment she’d been dreading and obsessing over equally. “We… we haven’t really talked about… us.”

Sophia’s smile faltered. ”I mean… we never have.” She stopped throwing pebbles and turned to face Y/N, the ocean reflecting in her wide, uncertain eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Y/N struggled to find the right words, the ones that wouldn’t shatter the fragile peace between them. “I love you, Sophia. You know I do. But sometimes… sometimes I feel like I’m the only one who feels it this way.”

The silence that followed was deafening. The waves still crashed, the wind still howled, but Y/N could hear nothing but the frantic beating of her own heart.

“Maybe I’m crazy,” she rushed on, desperately trying to backtrack, to convince herself that her fears were unfounded. But Y/N knew, with a sickening certainty, that the gold in Sophia’s eyes was no longer mirroring her own.

“I just…” Y/N forced herself to meet Sophia’s gaze, the truth of her words a bitter pill on her tongue. “I feel like you’re not… here anymore. Not really. And it makes me feel like I’m doing something wrong. That I’m making you not love me.”

It was pathetic, she knew. Begging for love. Exposing herself so vulnerably, tearing down the walls she’d so carefully built. But she needed to know she’d tried everything. She couldn't face the years to come, wondering if a single conversation could have saved them.

Sophia was silent again, her expression unreadable. Y/N had to tell herself that it was Sophia’s fault. That something she did, not Y/N, was the reason for this shift. To think that she was the reason Sophia’s love was fading was too much to bear.

“Please,” Y/N choked out, tears pricking at her eyes. “Please, just… love me again.”

Sophia reached out, her fingers brushing against Y/N’s cheek. Her touch was gentle, but lacking the warmth it used to hold. “Y/N,” she said softly, her voice laced with a sadness that mirrored Y/N’s own. “I just… don't know if I can be what you want me to be.”

Y/N anxiety clawed at my insides. “What do you mean?” Y/N choked out. “What do I want you to be?”

"Someone who loves me the way you do.” Sophia’s hand retreated, leaving Y/N’s skin cold.

The truth hung heavy in the air, suffocating her. She was a puny candle, desperately clinging to the enormous sun, even as it imploded before her very eyes. It wasn’t fair. It didn’t make sense.

Y/N closed her eyes, the salty tears streaming down her face. She knew what came next. The goodbye.

“I… I need you, Sophia,” she whispered, the words a raw, desperate plea.

But Sophia didn’t respond. She just stood there, silhouetted against the dying sun, a beautiful, unattainable ghost.

“I can’t,” Sophia finally managed to say, her voice barely audible. “I just… I can’t.”

The words ripped through Y/N, severing the last thread of hope. She opened her eyes, staring at Sophia, trying to memorize every detail of her face, knowing this was the last time she’d see her this way.

“Okay,” Y/N whispered, the word a broken promise to herself. “Okay.”

She stood up, her legs shaky, and turned away from Sophia, away from the ocean, away from a future that no longer held the light she’d always known. She walked away, leaving Sophia sitting alone on the beach, a solitary figure against the expanse of the sea. And as she walked, she knew that the sun had finally set on their love, leaving her lost and shivering in the darkness.

[vivalabunbun]

When It Rains, Why Does It Pour?

Summary: Sand is quite a nuisance, it creeps into every crevice and no amount of dusting can free oneself from its stubborn hold. Yet, the tide still greets the shore.

Word Count: 8.8k (oh no...)

Tags: Neuvillette x GN!Reader, human!reader, SFW, fluff, childhood friends AU, Slow Burn, Slow Fic, Angst, Hurt with Comfort, themes about reincarnation, TW: Themes about death and loss, themes about aging, immortal x mortal AU, not lore accurate, reader is an attendant, human prejudice, Spoilers Warning: His story quest and archon quests, speculations about his past in Fontaine, why is he so mysterious

Authors Note: This was a challenge trying to write from the POV of a man you don't even know the name of, but I just had to write something for him. A character study of Neuvillette. Enjoy!

How long has it been since he first arrived here? One month? Two? Or perhaps it has already been a year? The young dragon wasn’t too sure.

The days seem to blend together when one only eats, studies, and sleeps all on repeat. A cruel trait of time. The weather outside the glass windows didn’t provide any hints either.

However, he himself is to blame. 

A gray haze concealed azure skies as rhythmic drops of rain hit the earth. Blocking out the all-seeing sun and nurturing moon, the murky clouds above even hinder the stars from accompanying him.

A true reflection of his current solitude. 

The young dragon arrived in the human world, brought over by the lord of Fontaine. Due to the nature of his arrival to this nation, he was given status and importance in the eyes of the citizens. However, he has yet to receive acceptance. 

The grand estate in which he resides was staffed with countless butlers and maids, renowned chefs, and skilled tutors. He was wanting of nothing, yet still impoverished. 

He could see it in their mortal eyes, he could sense it in the tangible silence of the halls, he could tell from the distance each mortal put between themselves and him. 

Much like the towering stone walls which surrounded his private residence.

Was it to separate themselves from him or himself from them?

A question he entertains as lilac eyes scan over the aforementioned wall. Its gray stones are a welcomed change from the dry parchment with even drier content. 

As he observes the drab stones contrast against a dreary sky, a small flash of white cuts through the somber composition.

Catching his lilac eyes as they follow the strange shape, it drifts through the capricious wind before the breeze grew bored and tossed it to the ground.

Studying it a bit further, the young dragon identifies the object as a simple pillowcase. Nothing more than a scrap of fabric. 

He reasons that the wind must’ve stolen it from some clothesline. Just when he was about to return to the legal ledgers a rustling came from the bushes lining the bottom of the wall.

A small frame pushes apart the thick vegetation, creating enough space to finally free themselves from the entangled mess of branches. 

The towering wall, the one meant to separate him from the mortals, was defeated by a mere child.

A child who’s clumsy brushing the twigs from their garments and shaking a few raindrops from their hair. He watches as the small human trots toward the discarded pillowcase, a pout forming on their lips as they observe the mud that had seeped into the silk. 

Judging by the simple attire they don, they must be the child of a maid. 

Ah humans, fickle and temperamental creatures created by the usurpers. It took a conscious effort on his part to stop the frown threatening to appear on his lips.

Seems like he still needs to get used to their presence. 

It was as if the child sensed the bitterness in his thoughts because soon a pair of wide eyes connected with lilac. Even with the sun hiding behind dreary clouds, there was a light that twinkled in their irises. 

It was only for a minute, no, even less than that. But a young dragon and a young human held each other’s gaze. 

The child’s shoulders jolt as they turn their head back toward the wall, as if a voice called for them. Casting one last glance toward the young dragon, the child trots back toward the wall, disappearing within the murky viridescent. 

And that was the end, like the breeze that littered a scrap of fabric among the grass, the small human came and went.

Such fickle creatures, the young dragon gives it one last thought before returning his attention back to a cluttered desk. 

–

Amongst the soft drumming of droplets came a tap against the glass too sharp to be caused by the gentle rain. Causing the young dragon to turn away from the stacks of books laid out before him.

The wet glass obscured a small flicker of an orange glow, thus he walked closer to investigate. With each step, the figure outside the window became undeciphered.

That small human again. 

Locking eyes with the human outside the glass, the fickle creature’s lips curl up, the glow of their lamp illuminating the curiosity behind their gaze.

A human child doesn’t have the potential to cause much if any harm to him. Thus, he releases the lock, removing the glass barrier separating two breathes. 

“Hello! What is uh… your name?” They chirp out. 

His sharp ears picked up the clumsiness in their speech, the subtle unfamiliarity of the words they spoke. Distinct signs that you were still learning the language of Fontaine, much like him.

Although he understood your question, he was too distracted to answer. Lilac eyes wandering off toward the stone wall. Within the entangled mess of twigs, there was a small parting.

A part just wide enough to reveal the secret the bushes desperately tried to hide: A small hole along the bottom of the stone barrier. Just enough for a small creature to slip through. 

Discovering the truth behind how a small human was able to defeat such a seemingly impenetrable wall. 

The pattering of the rain was interrupted by the rustling of fabric, drawing his attention back to the small human in front of him.

The child rummages through their pockets before pulling out a lump covered by a handkerchief. Peeling back the layer of fabric to reveal some conch madeleines, presenting fragmented sweets before the young dragon. 

“It tastes good, I promise.” A small hand extends itself further through the open window. 

Observing the crumbly sweets laid out upon a handkerchief, the young dragon halted the rejection that almost escaped his lips. Remembering the concepts he had just been reading before this.

Humans tend to follow a set of unwritten rules, principles they like to call ‘manners’. There weren’t any punishments issued by law if those rules were broken, no imprisonment or fines.

However, narrow-eye stares and whispers behind backs were the punishments issued to transgressors by society. 

So, he accepts a piece, trying to ignore the sand-like sensation against his tongue. As he chewed, the grin on the human’s face only got wider.

“Now that you’ve taken one, you have to give me your name, it’s only uh… fair!” 

Ah, it looks like he’s been tricked. Falling into the clumsy sugar-coated trap only a child could come up with. Yet, as his lilac gaze caught the twinkle still ever so bright in their eyes, he didn’t have the strength to form a frown. 

Just a curious human child, only as dangerous as a firefly buzzing in his ear. There shouldn’t be any harm in disclosing the surname bestowed upon him by this nation.

“Neuvillette.” He finally said his first words to you. 

A peculiar pattern is recurring. That rainy night when Neuvillette opened those windows, it looked like he welcomed a phenomenon in as well. 

Even in his current state, a small human like you could pose no possible threat to him. Thus, whenever a certain tap was placed against the glass. He saw no reason to turn away the visitor. Allowing you to climb in through his window time and time again.

It would’ve been better if you used the door. However, he’s aware of the complications such a request would bring.

Perhaps it’s because he’s currently in the form of a young child, sharing a similar stature to yours. From his observations, humans do have a tendency to gravitate toward those with similar traits. Or perhaps, you’re just exceptionally brazen. 

Neuvillette glances up from his book, thick with endless sentences describing obscure and frivolous laws, landing on your frame lazing around upon a rug.

One hand holds onto a collection of fables, pages illuminated by the gentle rays of a star. While the other periodically reaches out toward a pile of conch madeleine.

A sight he’s come to expect now. 

Lavender eyes follow your hand as it brings another one of the crumbly sweets to your mouth again. You brought them over under the pretense of sharing them with him, yet they’re already half gone. The only hand reaching for the sweets being yours.

Just like how it was last time, and the time before that, and the one before that as well. 

If you felt this complacent in his presence now, then perhaps he can be more candid with you. As is common practice among humans to present a polite front that gradually wears away each recurring meeting. 

“You do not have to bring over any more conch madeleine.” 

The moment those words left his lips the motion of your hand halted, looking up to connect your sight with his, confusion pinching together your brows.  

“Oh? Why so suddenly?” The collection of fables now resting on the rug. 

It’s already been done, the first ripple in the frangible water between you and him. There is nothing that can cease the waves that accompany the first breach. He might as well say the whole truth. 

“They are dry, I cannot fathom how you can bring yourself to eat them.” Prescriptive eyes caught a faint flinch as you processed his edict.

“They taste fine to me…” You mutter, picking another one up. 

This time you chewed slower. The pinch between your brow only grew as you tasted the sweet again, searching for the perceived flaw.

As you met his gaze once more, he could tell your search brought forth no fruitful conclusions. Thus you asked another question in response.

“Then what do you like?”

Besides the pleasantries commonly exchanged between humans in Fontaine, Neuvillette recognizes he lacks the talent for small talk.

The room usually filled with your grievances about whichever tedious task you were assigned before you slipped away behind a wall and into his private residence. Ambient noise which accompanied each flip of a law book. 

It is long overdue for him to pull his weight in a conversation. 

“Water, spring water.”

“Huh?”

Neuvillette repeats his sentence but the scrunch of your brows doesn’t ease up, he couldn’t fight the urge to draw in a deep breath. So this is the limitation of the human palate, how regrettable. 

“Perhaps you are still too simple to appreciate the qualities of water.” 

The pout upon your crumb-covered lips morphs into a tight line, sealing away your voice.  The brightly printed cover of a storybook was shut as the last few remaining treats were bundled away in a napkin. 

Your tea break ended early today, impassive eyes following your figure as it disappeared among the thick vegetation beside a stone barrier. 

It was quiet today, not even a single parting uttered past your sealed lips. Therefore leaving the conversation unfinished. 

But that is today, you’ll have another tea break tomorrow, and you’ll come to him with your grievances about chores tomorrow as well. 

The young dragon returns his focus to the text in front of him. 

–

The soft hymn of raindrops against a glass window reverbed through the solitary study, providing a melody for the periodic flips of paper. But the melody was hollow, incomplete.

Shifting his body to look behind himself at the vacant rug, Neuvillette deduces why. The accompaniment was missing. 

That tomorrow he had come to expect never came. 

Had he committed a transgression? Overstep a line outside his place? Food is a point of pride for many humans, one oddity he’s yet to grasp.

These temperamental creatures tend to lash out when their pride is wounded, much like how a beast reacts to an unhealed cut. 

Neuvillette was curious as to whether this was an inherent trait of humanity or a learned by-product of the fickle principles imposed on themselves.

However, observing the abandoned storybook tucked away, the young dragon is leaning towards the former. 

Turning back to face his desk, his eyes could only glaze over the monotonous scribbles. Perhaps the cause of his spiritless attitude was disappointment, disappointment in himself. 

It looks like he was careless, deluding himself with the misconception that you and him were alike. Two outsiders who found solace in each other’s presence.

However, this was false. You were an outsider to Fontaine, but he was an outsider to this world where humans walked. 

He’s still too naive.

Fickle and temperamental creatures spoiled by the usurpers at the expense of his ancestors.

Why did he even entertain the thought that you and him could ever be alike?

Something stirred from within, like when pebbles were thrown into still water, but what were those pebbles? As Neuvillette ponders this conundrum, the drumming of the rain grows louder. 

However, it wasn’t loud enough to swallow up the sharp set of taps which interrupted his somber reflection. Jolting him from his thoughts, snapping his attention to the source of the noise.

There stood a figure distorted by the wet glass as another set of sharp taps sounded through the room. 

Before Neuvillette could even process it, his body moved without his command. Unlatching the lock and setting the window free from its frame.

Not sparing another second to the raindrops soaking into their cloak, the figure clambers through the window with practiced proficiency.

Without uttering a single greeting, not even one pleasantry, you situated yourself on his floor. Melting into an undignified lump on the pristine tiles as bewildered eyes watched you.

After catching a few breaths, an explanation finally makes its way to his ears. 

“T-they… they patched… up the hole,” you huffed out between short breaths. 

Ah, the small cavity in the stone wall that you used to escape from chores. Looks like the security at the estate finally noticed.

Gauging the height of the wall from his place by the window, he’s aware of how it towers over both him and you the same.

This brings up another question as he returns to observe your frame, still trying to catch the breaths that evade you. 

“I… ran… through the gates… before the… Gardes noticed…” Exhaustion evident in your eyes as pants break up your sentence. 

Ah, looks like his question was answered before he even inquired. To be puzzled or amazed, he wasn’t too sure how to categorize this ripple inside him.

The tomorrow that’s been missing for a little more than two weeks, is now right in front of him.

Panting and leaving a few muddy traces along the marble floor, but here nonetheless. 

With one deep motion of your lungs, you pushed your body up, finally getting ahold of your breath. The familiar rustle of your pocket, the audio cue for a certain dry sweet to appear. Neuvillette didn’t mind in the least.

Perhaps, he can bear the sandy sensation just for today. But tomorrow is always filled up with surprises, a glass bottle finding its way out of your pocket instead of sugary treats. 

“What is that?” An obvious question, but his voice found its way out of his mouth.

“Water, water from the servant’s well, I bottled it myself.” A small hand holds the bottle out more. 

“Thank you,” Neuvillette accepts it into his hands. 

He should really acquire some glasses to pour the water out into, it’s improper and bad manners to drink from the bottle.

However, his curiosity was greater. Or maybe, he didn’t realize just how parched he had become from waiting for tomorrow. 

Uncapping the clumsily packaged water, he takes a generous sip. 

“It’s sweet.” His tongue picking up on a subtle saccharine undertone. 

“Really?” Your hand reaches up as that familiar shine illuminates your eyes. 

Taking a sip from the bottle passed back into your grasp, your brows furrowing in concentration. Another sip was taken from the bottle as you continued to search for the sweetness in the water you’ve always drank.

A sight that tugged up at the lips of a boy still studying the shape of your quirked brows. 

Humans, fickle, perplexing, yet astoundingly curious creatures from the very beginning.

If he is to walk amongst the human world, then it’s best for him to be equally curious. To try and search for the harmony between two different breaths. 

A child of a maid far from their homeland. A status too insignificant to warrant the attention of Fontaine's factions, freeing you from their prying eyes and entanglements.

Therefore, it should be alright for him to continue observing you, no?

“Ahh… The rain is so unpredictable here in Fontaine, trying to hang out the wash here is always a gamble.” You sink further into the plush cushions of his settee. 

As the sun rose and fell, as the leaves grew green then gold, as the ground froze and thawed.

One thing remained unchanged throughout these cycles even as they repeated: your grievances over chores. 

The frequency of these complaints reaching his ears has increased, on the part that you now took over more of your mother’s responsibilities in managing the laundry of this estate. 

Besides your habitual complaints of the weather, one detail didn’t escape Neuvillette’s hearing: your proficiency in the Fontainian language has increased significantly.

Words no longer spoken clumsily or with unfamiliarity. Accent nearly indistinguishable from a native speaker. 

“The people here are fond of creating strange machinery, why can’t they make something to dry clothes?” You resume. 

The quill in his hand stops as he pauses in the middle of a sentence, glancing over his shoulder toward your slouching figure making yourself comfortable in the sofa that’s more familiar with your shape than his. 

“Perhaps you should be the one to create it, studying might do you some good as well,” came his curt response. 

His candid advice makes you sink further into the cushions with a groan. 

“I’d rather travel than study those jumbled-up books about machinery or whatever, in fact, I want to visit my homeland as soon as I can,” you grumble aloud. 

Ah, that’s right, you’re approaching the age where you could travel freely.

By law, you won’t be bound to the side of your mother, not needing any permission to come to and fro however you wish. No longer kept at this estate washing and folding sheets.

Indeed, you and him found yourselves in similar situations: on the cusp of freedom from this estate. 

While he was deep in thought, you filled the silence left behind by posing a question to him. 

“Do you plan on visiting your homeland anytime soon, Neuvi?” 

By now, the young dragon had stopped expending the effort to try and correct you in your butchering of his surname. Your reason being ‘it’s too long’.

Alongside you, he has grown in stature as well, elapsing you some time ago much to your dismay. If he wished to travel, not much would pose a problem to the young dragon.

However… where could he return to? A homeland… was there a section of his homeland untouched by the usurpers? If he were to go, would he ever want to return to this world?

Sensing the change in the air, dreary clouds blocking the sun’s rays from your skin, you were perceptive enough to ramble about a different matter.

Namely, how the chef of the estate recently changed the type of flour used in the kitchens, resulting in pastries and sweets that were less airy but more flavorful. 

Explaining to him the subtle improvements and deterioration in the quality of some baked goods. Filling the air of the study with bright-eyed ramblings until rays of light peek out from waning clouds. 

–

“Monsieur Neuvillette! It’s been a while since you’ve visited!” Soft patters of skipping steps made their way to the tall man. 

Tilting his sights down, Neuvillette greets the cheery melusine with a gentle smile which she returned with an equally bright grin.

While on a routine stroll along the riverbanks to stretch his legs after a long day, he found himself at the entrance of Merusea Village.

He wonders if it's his body’s natural response to get away from the Palais Mermonia and Opera Epiclese. 

Carrying him toward the direction of a secluded reprieve he discovered far away from the suspicious eyes of weary humans.

Condemnatory eyes were constantly pinned to the back of the young dragon who had recently emerged from a sheltered estate to sit in the grand seat of a Chief Justice. 

Days filled with nothing but a cacophony of voices echoing off the opera house walls. Screams from the accused and the eager murmurs of spectators blended into nothing more than a chaotic din in his ears. 

Gazing deeper into the small lake, the unsuspecting entrance to a hidden haven that the Melusines called home.

It would only take a moment, just one dip into the pristine water for him to disappear from the clamorous mortal realm.

Abandoning the overly grand seat of his post as easily as it would take for his head to vanish under the tranquil tide.

How great would it be to exist in the presence of creatures who could resonate with his own adriftness?

Maybe, he could finally discover the purpose of his current form and longevity in their company. Yes, that sounds about right. 

Just as the water wet the tip of his overly ornate shoe, all motion his body stills at a familiar call. 

“NEUVI!” Came a voice from just over the beaten path. 

Soon your silhouette follows the echo of your call, steps hurried yet worn.

When the young dragon departed from his temporary estate and into the Palais Mermonia, a certain specter followed him as well.

The same specter who’s currently huffing to catch their breath after such a rush. Trying to gather enough air to form their next sentence. 

“There you are! The grand tailor sent me to fetch you because you’re almost an hour late to the fitting of your new robe, they need to make sure the measurements are correct,” you chide. 

The exasperation of your words was most definitely caused by the fact you had to physically exert yourself in your search for the wandering Chief Justice. Evident by the pout on your lips and scrunched nose. 

His attention was quickly torn away from your recuperating figure by a faint tug of his slacks.

The Melusine had hidden herself behind his legs, creating a barrier between her and the strange mortal who seemingly appeared from the blue.

Her sudden movement caught your attention as well. 

Ah, that’s right. The Melusines have yet to be acquainted with humans, and humans with Melusines.

Two different species, two different breaths, and two different sets of eyes that can’t seem to see directly into each other. 

If his time within the wall of the estate and Palais Mermonia had proven anything, it would be the natural adversity humans had to differences.

Neuvillete certainly wasn’t prepared for such an event, nor was he sure how to handle it. 

In the midst of his inaction, your hand reached into your pocket, fumbling around before pulling out a handkerchief-covered lump.

Despite the soreness in your legs, you lowered your body until you were at eye level with the shorter Melusine. 

“Hello there, would you like some conch madeleines?” Unraveling the fabric to reveal the sweets which you seem to have an abundant supply of. 

The grip on his slacks tightened as she glanced up at him, lilac eyes catching the hesitance in her irises. Neuvillette gives a subtle nod, giving just enough reassurance for the small creature to release his pant leg.

Reaching a mitten-like hand toward the golden sweets, it only took one bite for the hesitance in her eyes to be replaced by a bright twinkle. 

“It’s tasty isn’t it?” Your lips formed a wider grin.

The Melusine responds with an eager nod, too occupied with bringing more of the buttery treat into her mouth.

At the sight of her restless chewing covering her cheeks with faint crumbs, you let out a giggle.  

“I’ll give you the rest of the sweets if you tell me your name,” you offered. 

After a few moments of the Melusine finishing her previous bite, she falls for the same trap he had many years ago. 

“My name is Carole!” She chirps. 

“What a wonderful name.” Your gaze softened further as you held out the treats, keeping your promise. 

As Carole reaches for more, she glances back up. Wide eyes twinkling as she inquires him with the one thought currently on her mind.

“Monsieur Neuvillette, does the human world have more treats as delicious as these?”

Ah, it looks like the stroll Neuvillette took today to relieve himself of mounting troubles only led him to more. 

The skies over the Court of Fontaine have been in a pensive stalemate, all too familiar clouds blocking azure hues. However, rain has yet to patter on the ground, as if the weather was unsure of itself. 

A feeling shared by the Chief Justice currently sitting at his desk, reviewing the details of the day’s trials. Albeit, half heartily. 

Much like the skies crowded with clouds, in the solitude of his office, his mind rang loud with thoughts. Neuvillette only had himself to blame for the current silence of his office, it’s been this way for around a week going on two now. 

Lilac eyes peered over the tops of the papers toward the shut doors, concealing him away. There hasn’t been a knock on those doors for some time now, due to the diligent Melusines who followed his request.

Turning away potential visitors with crafted excuses of ‘The Chief Justice is handling a very important case’ or ‘My apologies, but the Chief Justice is very busy’. 

Neuvillette recognizes that he’s currently no different than a child hiding away from the consequences of a broken vase. 

How childish, he chides himself as he returns back to his responsibilities. How would the citizens of Fontaine react to their Chief Justice conducting himself in such a manner?

He’s sure if Lady Furina were to catch wind of his behavior, she’d be greatly entertained. 

As if the mere mention of the nation’s archon presented a bad omen, the sturdy doors of his office swung open, revealing the face of a familiar visitor who’s been turned away one too many times. 

“My my, it’s been quite some time since I’ve seen the inside of this office, I almost forgot what it looks like,” you remark as your eyes hone in on him. 

The child’s hiding place under the bed has been exposed. 

“Good afternoon, I was not made aware you had any appointments with me.” Neuvillette’s own eyes trail past yours. 

From behind the door frames the figures of two Melusines quickly dodged away from his sight. A silent admission of guilt on their part, and Neuvillette didn’t have to look hard to deduce the crime they’ve committed: Accepting bribes. 

The evidence was right there in the form of buttery crumbs left on the corner of their mouths. Ah, you and with those conch madeleines of yours. 

It’d be best for him to finally handle the situation at hand, one he’s been trying to maneuver out of. 

“If I recall correctly, you were granted a vacation, why not take this chance to travel? It certainly is a prime opportunity-”

“Why have you been avoiding me, Monsieur?” you cut through the long-winded pleasantries and excuses. 

His lips press together, by now he’s well accustomed to your brazenness. However, the absence of a familiar name only said in your voice made the guilt weigh heavier on his shoulders.

Guilt which originated a few weeks prior. 

—

On a secluded riverbank, a routine walk under clear skies was halted. You were knelt down on the ground, uncaring of the sand sticking to the fabric of your clothes, as you held a Melusine between your arms. Two mittened hands clung to you as she soaked your shoulder with tears. 

“W-why? Why did he have to go?” Her sobs interrupted by sudden hiccups. 

As you rubbed circles into her back, something he saw humans do to soothe their crying young, Neuvillette watched from the side. Much like how he would observe those performances within the Opera Epiclese. 

Liath is her name, a diligent Melusine who patrolled the grounds of the Palais Mermonia. By her side, there would be a guard poodle who’d matched her skips with his prances. An inseparable duo, or it’d be more accurate to say, they were once an inseparable duo. 

Dogs are a species domesticated by humans, some might argue that they were created by humanity through generations of selection. So it stands to reason that they too would have a limited lifespan.

In fact, they have a lifespan even more restricted than that of the mortals who tamed them. 

The Melusines have just begun walking amongst humans, there were still many aspects their sheltered minds have yet to grasp. The fleetingness of mortality is one of them. 

Thus, Neuvillette did his best to caution them. 

However, just like how laws can’t completely stop crimes, his words can’t completely prevent such tragedies. All he could do was try.

“I’m sorry for your grief, this was the very reason why I cautioned you against getting too attached to him… A dog’s life is brief-”

“Monsieur Neuvillette.” 

The sentence died at the tip of his tongue as his eyes met yours. Gaze narrowed and brows furrowed, not even the Chief Justice dared to interject any further.

After you silenced him, your focus returned back to the grieving Melusine. 

Slowly standing back up from the ground, her frame cradled in your arms as her sobs continued. 

“I know it hurts,” you whispered, one hand patting her back, setting a steady rhythm reminding her to breathe. 

“B-but why? W-why is it so sad?” she hiccuped. 

You hummed, beginning to bounce her a bit within your hold. 

“Wouldn’t it be sadder if you never met him?” 

At your question, the Melusine stares at you through teary eyes. Expression lined with confusion. 

“To have loved him, and for him to have loved you in return…isn’t that enough?” You cooed, taking steps away from the riverbank. 

Still frozen in his place, the dragon could only stare at your back as it grew further and further away, soon disappearing from his view. 

He had misspoke.

Neuvillette recalled last Autumn. As the vivid hues of the foliage shriveled up to nothing more than a shadow of their former beauty, you laid your mother to rest. Burying her in a cemetery which overlooked the direction of your homeland.

His unsolicited reprimand must have been throwing salt into a wound that still bled. He had overstepped his authority. 

Murky clouds congregated in the once clear sky. 

—

Those were the events that transpired, events that have led to the current stalemate happening in his office. Lilac eyes couldn’t seem to find the courage to connect with yours. Another excuse finding its way to his tongue. 

“Didn’t you want to visit your homeland?”

“Oh?” Your brow quirks up, as your hands find their way to your hips. 

“And then who’d be here to repair the tears in your robe when you inevitably step on them?” Obviously unimpressed by his suggestion. 

“Surely there are other talented tailors here that can handle the task,” he rebukes. 

“Oh? Will they also untangle your hair from the ornamentation of chairs?” You press on.

“I can manage.”

“Then can the Chief Justice also manage all the uniforms for the Melusines? Can he sew every button and ensure they fit correctly?” 

Ah, with your last statement, Neuvillette concedes. A hush fills the room. 

The Melusines are still new to walking amongst humans, not many were willing to tailor specialized uniforms for their short stature. Thus, you took up the mantle. 

Perhaps out of a sense of responsibility, it was you who stirred their curiosity with those sweets of yours. 

It seems responsibilities tethered you to the Court of Fontaine, much like they did to him. After a few breaths, as always, your voice shatters the stalemate. 

“I’m not upset, Neuvi.”

With those words, his lilac eyes finally connect with yours. Finally able to see the soft curls at the corners of your lips.

It indeed has been a while since he last saw such a sight.

This time instead of replying with an excuse, he responds with a gentle hum. 

“Ugh, why are your curtains so dusty? When was the last time you went outside?” It wasn’t long before your attention returned to the state of his office. 

Strolling past his desk, your hands began to fuss with the thick drapes. Pouting at the dust that coated the lush fabrics.

All Neuvillette could do was follow with his gaze, papers long pushed to the side as for the first time in a while, an azure hue was seen peeking through the clouds. 

From his observations, it’s instinctive for humans to avoid pain. However, it’d be hypocritical of him to judge mortals for actions he’s been guilty of. 

“If I knew I had to work this hard now, I would’ve skipped more chores back at the estate,” you chuckle, pulling back the drapes to allow gold to illuminate his office.

To have loved and have been loved in return.

Was this the human rationale behind taming a dog? Having the reality of the future constantly lurking over each happy moment as the hands of time tick forward.

Why do humans dote on pets? Creatures that only live a fraction of a mortal life? 

Are happy memories a fair exchange for bitter grief, or are they the cure? 

As Neuvillette counts the strands of peeking silver that mingle within your lush locks, he prays he finds the answer soon. 

The clacks of ornate shoes reverberate down once unfamiliar halls, a towering figure lurks past bustling nurses who bow their heads at the sight of the Chief Justice as he passes by.

With a body like his, there is no reason for him to wander among these halls. Or more accurately, there once was no reason. 

The taps of his soles slowed as a familiar door came into view, the only detail which differentiated it from the rest of the hall being the brass numbers displayed. Bringing up a glove-clothed knuckle, delicate taps were placed against the wood.

Almost immediately, a muffled ‘come in’ resounded behind the frame. Granting the Iudex permission to turn the polished knob, allowing him entry as the hinges sang their welcome.

“My, my, if it isn’t Monsieur Neuvillette, to whom do I owe the pleasure?” A grin spreads across your face, crinkling the corners of your eyes. 

Instantly his frame stiffens in the midst of returning the door to its frame. Bringing his free hand up to his face, Neuvillette coughs as to compose himself once more.

“Please, forgo the formalities.” 

Though your eyes might not be as sharp as they once were, the delicate dusting of pink along his pointed ears couldn’t escape their sight. Making your eyes crinkle more.

Feeling entertained enough, you cease your teasing and gesture toward the vacant chair beside your bed.

Obediently, his towering figure strides up to the seat, the wood squeaking under his weight as he settles onto it. 

By now, the dragon has grown accustomed the structure of greetings, beginning with a layer of pleasantries. 

“How have you been fairing?” Lavender eyes scrutinize the sheets and pillows, searching for any unapparent flaws. 

“It’s just a mild case of pneumonia,” you muse aloud. 

Momentarily resting his eyes behind a slow blink, all he could do was sigh at your brazen nonchalantness. Yet with a ghost of a smile on the same lips that sighed.

It was a mild case of pneumonia, a common ailment during the frosty months. For someone as steadfast as you, such an illness might’ve surrendered to your stubbornness. 

It might've surrendered… if your body had remained as it once was.

How unfortunate it all is, that time is so cruel to mortal creatures.

Attentive eyes detailing each crease that settled by your lips, remnants of the many grins and laughs that stretched your face. 

The basking light of a selfish star catches in your hair, lush hues that have faded to brilliant ivory. A shade that you often compare to his while jesting, ‘We match now’.

However, Neuvillette begs to differ, the sunlight is much more luminous in your tresses.

Trailing his sights back to your gaze. Deep lines formed by countless dynamic expressions drew attention to the glimmer forever present in your irises. Like paths on a map that led lilac eyes to yours. 

“How are you finding your stay?” At times, Neuvillette found himself wondering how the azure tides appeared from your view. 

“Mm, quite uneventful, eating, staring out a window, sleeping.” 

He hums in response, contemplating if he should inquire you about such subjects. As you ramble, perhaps the dragon could grasp onto an inkling of understanding. 

“Well, at least I can say that my stay has been anything but lonely.” Your eyes motioning toward a corner. 

The bland, sterile wall overshadowed by a mass comprised of trinkets ranging from local flowers to any object whose surface catches light.

The heap grows day by day as each Melusine continues to bring their earnest gratitude to the human who sew each stitch of their coats. A sight that could stir even the most placid lake.

“They’re such sweethearts.” Each one of your words coated with endearment. 

Once more, all the dragon could respond with was a mellow hum. Slow breaths fill the complacent silence between two species, one blessed by time and one shunned by it.

Neuvillette has grown accustomed to the structure of conversations but, alas, he still has no talent for small talk.

In the absence of dialogue, the layer of short pleasantries long dissolving, Neuvillette is left with nothing but his inquiries. It was all he had left, and so it was all he could offer. 

“Are there any regrets you hold?” 

“Oh oh? Getting sentimental so out of the blue, Neuvi?” A familiar quirk graces your brow. 

“It’s nothing of the sort, just a musing that drifted in my mind during a stroll, I wish to know your thoughts on the matter.” 

“Mmm… I don’t feel that I have any regrets, living an honest life and having the fortune to never have stepped foot in the Fortress of Meropide.” 

“Is that really all? You never did get to travel like you dreamed of back at the estate.” 

“Haha, trying to stump me with that, Neuvi?” you chuckle. 

Relaxing more into the pillows which propped up your weary frame, you trail your sights toward the window. 

“Didn’t I tell you already? I’ll have plenty of time to travel once I become a cloud, I can go everywhere the sky can reach.” Smile softening on your lips. 

Neuvillette’s folded hands grasp one another tighter on his lap, his own lips pressing each other into a thin line.

The conversation was teetering closer and closer to the unspoken reality looming like a shadow in the room. 

He wasn’t sure when it started, maybe when the first silver strands appeared in your hair or when you discovered his skin won’t wrinkle along with you.

He wasn’t sure when your adamant belief of becoming a cloud once the shadow came to claim you started. 

Neuvillette wonders if this daydream was the product of those fables you browsed when you laid upon a plush rug.

Or was it your personally crafted fable to explain the incomprehensible to a creature who couldn’t fully grasp it?

A creature whose skin didn’t wrinkle, whose bones didn’t grow brittle. A creature seemingly untouched by time.

Fairytales do serve this purpose for children, magical fantasies to make uncomfortable realities palatable to naive minds. 

“...vi?... Ne…?... Neuvi.” 

A hand marred with age takes hold of one glove-clad hand, and a pleasant heat radiates through the leather. Coaxing Neuvillette’s attention back from its escapade. 

“My apologies, I was lost in thought for a moment.” He gives your hand a reassuring squeeze. 

But the frown weighing down on your lips didn’t disappear, much like how retreating into musings couldn’t wash away any shadows.

Your chest moves with a deep inhale. 

“Maybe I do have one regret,” you began. 

Readjusting your ailing fingers in his hold so that he could hold them with equal endearment, his ears concentrate on your voice. 

“Actually, I have many,” you sigh. 

Before he could formulate a response, you continued. 

“I wish I could have shoulder the burdens you carry. I wish you would’ve shared them with me. And I wish I could even understand them, then maybe I could have understood you more.” Turning to face him, your disheartened eyes center on his frame. 

A child born from a maid, a maid who traveled to Fontaine in hopes of a better future for her child. That was your origin, an outsider with neither fame nor fortune.

Thus, even as you followed him from a secluded estate to the grand Palais Mermonia, you could never follow him in status nor influence. 

As unrest grew, as injustices mounted, and as tragedies took away friends.

All you could do was repair tears, sew buttons, and pour him a crisp glass of spring water as you waited for the storm to wash despair away.  

That was how you saw it. But Neuvillette rebukes that notion. 

The dignity of a newly established Chief Justice, who kept stepping on his overly ornate robes, was carefully maintained by you.

The Melusine’s uniforms, which solidified their presence in the human world, were crafted by you.

The patient hand that always offered silent comfort in the suffocating courts was yours. 

Standing by his side, even as your bones grew to ache, to ensure the storm would pass and the sun emerge once more. 

“You’ve done more than enough.” He states the truth, grasping your hand just a bit tighter. 

“Are you sure?” Those airy chuckles of yours made their appearance again. 

“I never even learned your real name,” you interject.

A knife, red hot and fresh from the forge, would have hurt less than the guilt which tore through him at that moment.

The Chief Justice, the symbol of honesty and conviction, is unable to tell the simplest truth.

What shall he do now?

The power of a name is often underestimated, the exchanging of names signifying the forging of a bond. One that would forever tether him to you and you to him.

Oh, what shall he do now? 

Before his hesitant lips could take action, they were halted by a squeeze from your ailing grasp. Firm and warm, like a light that guides him up from the bottom of a turbulent ocean. 

“You don’t have to tell me now, Neuvi, tell me when I come back from my trip.” Those gentle eyes of yours smile at him.

Reeling his hand in closer to you with your own, until the softness of your lips was felt along covered knuckles.

A common practice in Fontaine, one Neuvillette had witnessed time and time again as he passed the lovers who congregated by the Fountain of Leucine. Actions that dedicated promises to one another. 

“I swear, once I’ve traveled enough, once I grow bored of foreign scenery, I’ll fall back down like rain to your side.” You whisper into the kiss.

It was his turn now, and he shall honor this ritual. Tenderly bringing in your hand to him, Neuvillette places his oath.

“Then I swear, when you return, I’ll tell you my name.” He whispers in the kiss.

The sterile rooms echo your airy chuckles as he keeps your hand close to himself for just a bit longer. 

“Mmm… Where I should go first? Maybe I’ll just amble about,” you ponder aloud. 

Gracing him with a smile which stretched your face and brought that familiar glimmer into your eyes.

“I wish you well on your travels.” Neuvillette presses another kiss into your knuckles. 

–

Spring was always the rainy season for Fontaine, with gentle temperate showers to welcome the budding blooms back from their Winter sleep.

However, this year the torrential downpour was anything but gentle. 

Planned trips canceled for the season, clothes remaining damp in baskets, and streets empty of their vigor. Even the Melusines couldn’t bring a skip to their steps.

It was as if time itself was slowed by the burdensome downpour. 

The cawing of crows as their wings beat against the dreary winds adds to the lonely hymn sung by the raindrops.

At once the cadence of the rain increased, the downpour growing heavier, and the violent pattering grew deafening. As if the sky was now belting out their sorrowful ballad. 

The rain could try. The skies can cry all they would like. But time, a cruel and unforgiving mistress, won’t ever stop. 

To have loved and been loved, was it truly enough? 

In Neuvillete’s eyes, he was the tide and you were the shore. The ebb and flow of water as the tide and shore met, time and time again. 

Each crash into the shore stirred up something perplexing and disorderly within the tide, irritating like the sand that mixed into the pristine waves.

So the tide tried to retreat into the lonesome ocean. 

Each time, the shore followed through grains of sand which the tide couldn’t ever seem to purge himself of. 

Each time, the shore beckoned the tide to return to the sandy beaches of humanity filled with perplexities and disorder. 

And each time, the tide surrendered to the call of the shore, lured in by its warmth. 

But now, the shore has eroded away.

Where does the tide go now?

Drifting now in the vastness of a lonesome ocean, carrying nothing but grains of sand. What shall the tide do now?

Neuvillette still has a lot to learn, for he couldn’t answer this riddle conjured by his own mind. 

Unable to stop himself, the lone dragon stares off into the rain.

Eyes honing in the direction of a peaceful hill, one where a mother and child were laid to rest side by side overlooking a homeland they never got to visit.

Maybe that was the first destination of your journey. 

During these past short years spent in this land, the young successor of the dragons has gained traitorous knowledge. One that undermines his preconceived purpose. 

Neuvillette feels he’s grasped onto the faintest inkling of why humans, as fickle, perplexing, and fleeting as they are, were still the most beloved creatures of the gods. 

Perhaps, he even understands now why those usurpers were willing to uproot the earth just for those beloved creatures. 

The wet season transitions into the dry season, then the dry season will transition into another wet season. Again and again, on and on as the hands of a clock ticks forward.

Each new tick signifies another step forward in the march of time.

Each step brings change and each step pulls the present away from the past. 

The rainy season of Spring was no longer as troublesome as it once was, as there was now a machine on the market that could dry clothes without the help of a bright star.

Melusines skip along down the paved paths of the Court of Fontaine as humans turn to greet them with endearing smiles.

New cafes line bustling streets as Clockwork Mekas make their evening patrols. 

A great many changes have come to Fontaine, Neuvillette witnessed them all from his office at the Palais Mermonia.

A great many changes, yet some things are bound to stay the same. For example, the Chief Justice’s fondness for strolls along vacant riverbanks. 

The gentle patters of raindrops lull the chaotic sympathy of trials, paperwork, and duties to a standstill. Reaching a hand out in front of him, Neuvillette catches a few drops in the palm of his gloved hand.

Lilac eyes examine the diminutive puddle in his hand before ultimately releasing the water back to the earth. 

He supposes he’s been feeling a bit nostalgic as of late, like a child recalling a story which once soothed them to a peaceful slumber. How childish it was for him to believe he could somehow catch a certain raindrop in his hands.

Turning up toward the drab sky, he searches through the endless and identical droplets that fall down and leave trails along his face. 

No, not yet. Perhaps they have yet to see all that the sky has to offer. 

Neuvillette returns his focus to the path in front of him. The rhythmic clacks of his shoes match with the soft drumming of the rain, and in the midst of this harmony a voice sings out:

“Hydro dragon… uh… Hydro dragon, don’t cry.”

Halting his stride. Judging by the unfamiliarity of their tongue pronouncing the lullaby, Neuvillette deduces they must be a visitor to Fontaine.

Ah that local legend, just how far has it spread? Nevertheless, an unfortunate traveler who’s unfamiliar with Fontaine’s seasons is now caught in this rain. 

It would only be polite to offer them some assistance as the Iudex of this nation. Thus, he turns in the direction of the call.

His suspicions were confirmed once his gaze landed on a distressed frame, their face obscured by the jacket they held over their head in a makeshift umbrella. 

It only took a few steps for the towering man to make it to their side.

“There is a tree you can take shelter under just ahead,” he advises the lost traveler.  

Now aware of his presence in front of them, they lifted the jacket from their line of sight to peer up at him. Revealing the details of their face to lilac eyes for the first time.

That was all it took for the symphony of rain to come to an end.

Soft drumming decrescendos into tranquility. It seems as if there will be an earlier welcome of flowers.  

“Oh?” You gaze up at the azure hue now peeking out from receding gray, astonishment reflected in the glimmer of your eyes. 

You’ve only heard of a local Fontainian legend from a guide pamphlet offered to tourists as you awaited the Aquabus.

When the rain suddenly began to pour as you ambled about a riverside, in a moment of desperation as you scrambled for shelter under a thin jacket you uttered the phrase.

You weren’t sure if the hydro dragon could understand your botched pronunciation, but it looks like he did.  

 Turning back to face the kind stranger, you wanted to convey your amazement to him. But the words fade just off the tip of your tongue when you peek back at the towering man.

Your eyebrows scrunch together as dumbstruck eyes widen at the sight of the drenched man.

“Mister?… Are you alright?” You scan over him, turning your attention away to sift through your pockets. 

How bewildering it must be for you to witness a well-dressed and noble figure drenched to the bone. However, Neuvillette made no attempt to stop the rivulets rolling down his cheeks, a parting gift from the Spring showers. 

He wonders as his gaze never left your frame, were tears perhaps this warm too?

“Here.” Your concern-ridden hand offers up a neatly folded handkerchief to the drenched man. 

As your eyes connect with his, a strange sensation tickled the back of your mind. As if it was trying to recall where you’ve seen the familiar lavender hue.

Maybe they matched the shade of a flower field you stumbled upon during your travels, or maybe that lilac luster was revealed to you in a dream.

A strange familiarity you couldn’t name. 

“Thank you very much.” He accepts the simple piece of cloth with tenderness rivaling that of conservators handing the renowned paintings of old masters. 

The clouds were long gone by now, perhaps they felt that their purpose had long been fulfilled. The golden rays of a lone star shone with all their brilliance, finally free from behind their blanket of drap clouds. 

It was only now that Neuvillette found out. The rain he had been yearning for all these years did in fact see all that the sky had to offer.

They had grown bored of drifting over vast plains, missing the picturesque countryside of Fontaine. Or perhaps their curiosity grew too great, wishing to finally hear a truth that was kept from them.

So much so, they quietly fell down from the sky, to return to his side again. 

Much like the hands in a clock, the cycle of water and earth follows a similar circular path. 

The rain had eroded away stubborn earth with its diligent drumming over the years.

Bit by bit and piece by piece until stone fractures into bits of sand. Over and over until a sandy beach was formed by the side of a patient sea.

Then the tide will reunite with its long-awaited shore, to return the sand and promise it cradled within its waves for so long. 

~Fin

©️vivalabunbun DON’T PLAGIARIZE, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS. 

[trancylovecraft]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ WANDERILLUSTREOUS!: PROLOGUE!

(YANDERE GENSHIN VARIOUS x READER)

[F/N] [L/N], A twenty-two year old college student goes about her mundane life. Most people would describe her as content, And maybe [F/N] would've described it as such too- Her life. Over and over again, Day after day, The cycle never stops. That is, However, Until she suddenly drops into Genshin Impact out of nowhere. In any other case, [F/N] might have been glad to be there. In a fantasy land where she had only ever visited in her dreams, With a feeling she couldn't describe flooding her entire being. However, [F/N] couldn't be further from excited.. She had never played Genshin in her life. [F/N] threw her head into her hands, Holding back the urge to scream. “I’m absolutely screwed, Aren’t I?”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚AO3 LINK *ೃ༄

GENDER: Femme LIST OF YANDERE'S: https://pastebin.com/ErsuA2cz SONG: Larger Than Life - Pinkzebra NOTE: SO UHM HI. THIS IS THE PROLOGUE TO UHM MY NEW FIC UHHHH- so ive been getting into genshin big time and uhm ive kinda got a new hyperfixation now so hERE IT IS IN WRITTEN FORM.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ MASTERLIST *ੈ✩‧₊˚˚ NEXT PART

What the actual hell?

[F/N]'s breath hitched in the morning dawn.

Her body was heavy like a weight was pushing down on her chest, Her eyes hazy, Yet they sparkled like stars under the dawnlight. Beginning to trickle down her face at the chill that batted in her eyelashes.

What was this?

This feeling.

Dew trickled down her face, Fresh from last night's rain and glimmering in the breaking dawn.

She tried not to itch at the frigid trails, No matter how much they unsettled her skin. Tried not to move around in the mush of the mud, Because the way it was settled cushioned her back just right.

The wind blew throughout every blade of grass, Every sweet flower and dandelion around. Leaves rustled on their branches, Little robins hopping around and tweeting their tune. The smell of dew and saccharine was rife in the air.

She breathed it in, Her lungs flooding with life.

It was so blinding, The sun, Burning at her eyes yet she couldn't find it in herself to close them. Not when the sky was so beautiful, So wonderful. Shades of aurora pink and sunset yellow splotching across the great canvas above, Birds sailing across it, Their wings struck wide and free as they only grew to be dots in the distance.

How could [F/N] ever look away?

She breathed in, A fresh wave of air entering her body. That feeling no one could describe, That chill that coated her skin, Her body completely at peace. Eyes forever staring up at the open sky that welcomed her with open arms. 

Tranquillity, Serenity, Exaltation. None of them were a good fit to the way [F/N] felt in that single moment.

Her mind fluttered for a second, Flickering on like the ember on a lighter.

Her eyes widened, Memories rushing back into her mind.

"Wait.. Where am I?!"

⭒❅✸✪✸❅⭒

Well.. This is bizarre.

"There's absolutely no way.. This can't be real.." [F/N] muttered in utter horror. Her eyes wide, Body rigid as she stared dead at the figure standin- No. Not standing, The correct term would be floating.

What looked to be a small little girl floated mid-air, Only a few feet away. Her eyes big and round, Shaded the colour of the night sky and staring happily at [F/N]. She was oddly dressed in a poofy, intricately embroidered white dress and matching elvish boots. 

[F/N] stood on the shore of who-knows-where, Having dragged her aching legs out of the field she had found herself in and had somehow got here.

A shoreline with impossibly beautiful sights, Crystallin blue waves crashing against the unlittered sand and leaving frothing seafoam in it's wake. Rocks and other formations cracked out of the water, Homing the chittering crabs and other sea-life that dared to venture there.

Not to mention the surrounding cliffs, Rocky and unbelievably high, Unlike any kind of cliffside [F/N] had ever seen. She could've been convinced she was somewhere near the swiss alps. It was beautiful, Absolutely beautiful.

And it made [F/N] all the more uneasy.

"This- This is just impossible..!" [F/N] held her face in her hands, Breathing unsteady. She would've began pacing if not for the fear she had for the crabs and their chattering pincers, Eyeing them warily from the gaps in her fingers.

"Are you alright? Paimon is worried about you!" The girl- Paimon, Gasped as she watched [F/N] hastily shuffle away from the beach crabs, Hands sliding up to grasp clumps of her hair in distress.

[F/N] took a jolting step back when Paimon floated a little too close, Startled by sudden movement. Her eyes snapped over to look at the fairy, Darting from head to toe, Affirming that it was that odd attire that she was wearing.

Sure- She was oddly dressed. But the weirdest part?

[F/N] recognised her.

And [F/N] had fished her out of a whirlpool in shallow tide.

"Paimon thinks that you need to take a deep breath in! Crabs are scary, But they can't be worse than that whirlpool you saved Paimon from! Paimon would've been a goner if it wasn't for you..!" Paimon cheers as she claps her hands, Giddy expression on her round face as she drifted nearer to [F/N].

She, In turn, Let out a rather shaken yap.

"I-I.. I didn't even know I could do that..?! I don't even know why I even tried that..!"

This.. This was Paimon? Paimon, The mascot of Genshin Impact, And she was floating right in front of her thanking her. Directly. This couldn't have been real, [F/N] must've hit her head on something or other-

Like.. There was no way this could be real, Right? There must be some rational explanation. A dream. A coma. Some really deep sleep that [F/N] just needs to pinch herself out of, Right?

Though if the twigs scraping at her ankle as she walked earlier wasn’t enough..

[F/N] sniffled.

Ugh. God. This was all so confusing.

"I can't.. Just please, Tell me I'm dreaming, Paimon. Tell me this is all just some big scenario I've dreamt up inside my head and that I'm gonna wake up any minute now.." [F/N] almost pleaded as her knees began to buckle, Lowering as she collapsed, Shins burying into the sand of the shore.

This couldn't be happening, It just couldn't.

"Paimon doesn't understand, But she knows how it feels to feel scared and confused..!" Paimon said, In attempt to console her. "Do you wanna tell Paimon what's wrong? Maybe Paimon can help you out!"

[F/N] lifted her head from within her hands, Breathing uneasy as she watched Paimon slowly float down to her level. This was real, Wasn't it? How could this be a dream, [F/N] knew what dreams were like, Both lucid and otherwise, And it was nothing like this.

[F/N] let out a shuddering breath, Trying to calm her nerves, Swallowing back her apprehension.

"Yeah.. Yeah- You're right- I should tell you what's wrong, I'm sorry- I just saved you and now you need to deal with me breaking down in front of you.." [F/N] smiled nervously, Trying to laugh off her unease and discomfort- Though not very successfully.

Where would she even begin?

How could she begin?

[F/N] groaned as she hunched over, Collapsing onto her backside instead of her knees. Damn. [F/N] felt like she was stranded on an island, But at least the sand felt nice against her skin.

"I.. I don't think I'm from this world."

"Huh..?" Paimon tilted her head to the side, Eyes lighting up at the claim.

"I.. It's hard to explain but.. I'm not from this world- I think I might have somehow been transported here by.. Well.. I don't know how. One minute I was lying in my bed and the next.." [F/N] trailed off, Shaking her head as she felt her hands grasp the hems of her shirt.

Breathe in, Breathe out.

"It happened so quick.. I.. I was just up late reading on my phone when suddenly some kind of light just swallowed the room." [F/N] continued on, Trying to make sense of what had happened to her. "It.. It felt so sickening- It made my head begin to throb but then.. But then I felt great, If for only a second.. And then I woke up in a nearby field.. My bed nowhere in sight."

Paimon listened on, Her frown getting more and more present on her round face. [F/N] continued on, Her voice beginning to shake as she looked up at Paimon, Who .

Paimon hmphed.

“So.. If Paimon understands this correctly.. You’re from another world? You’re not from Teyvat..?!” She seemed almost astonished by the thought, Almost in disbelief at the mere thought that [F/N] wasn’t from around here.

She couldn’t blame the poor fairy, [F/N] was just as confused as she was.

“Yeah.. It.. It’s kind of hard to believe- I know. But you need to understand that one minute I was lying in bed- The next- I was here!” She stressed, Her voice sounding more and more strained by the minute.

It was hard not to break down again, Not to try lose her mind.

“Hmm..” Paimon hummed in thought as her sparkly eyes roamed over [F/N] and her sweaty/dirty attire. It was strange clothing. Nothing like Paimon had known- No cloaks- No skirts- No intricate leather corset with floral designs-  

No. [F/N] was wearing a large pastel-pink hello-kitty t-shirt she used for pyjamas, A pair of oversized fleece bottoms to match, Flowing down to her heels. Paimon hmphed at the sight of the mascot, Hand on her chin in thought.

Damn, [F/N] wished she had proper shoes.

“Well.. Paimon believes you! Paimon doesn’t think that anyone wearing something as weird as that can be from around here!” Paimon concludes, A triumphant smile crossing her face as well as her arms, Poofy sleeves puffing up along with her rosy cheeks.

[F/N] let out an awkward giggle.

“Yeah.. Uhm.. Where is here anyways?” She asked as she looked around, Eyes roaming across the steep cliffs and the flowing grass rife with the wind flowing through them. Blinking as she swallowed back her trepidation.

“Mondstadt! One of the seven regions of Teyvat! Oh.. Wait, You probably don’t know what Teyvat is, Huh..” Paimon hummed in thought.

Mondstadt?

Wow. [F/N] really had been Isekai’d, Huh.

Now, Of course, In any other situation- In any other fanfiction or anime that [F/N] had read watched and watched, This would be a dream scenario for her. There was even times where she had wondered what it’d be like 

Chewing on her pen as she did her schoolwork, Conjuring up scenarios in her head as she tried to get some shut-eye, Or just walking down the street on the way to her part-time. It was all apart of her routine, Daydreaming, Sometimes she’d even consider it something she’d like to happen.

In one of her favourite animes perhaps where she could be the insert that everyone loved and rooted for. She could be the person envisioned in her head. A guilty pleasure if you will, But [F/N] wondered who didn’t have those?

That’s what her ‘x readers’ were for.

It was an escape, A get-away from her ordinary life.

But to be completely and utterly honest?

…

[F/N] had never played Genshin in her life.

She threw her head into her hands, Holding back the urge to scream.

“I’m absolutely screwed, Aren’t I?”

[prythiansprincess]

CHAPTER TWO

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🤍 pairing: theodore nott x reader.

🤍 song inspiration: somewhere only we know by rhianne.

🤍 author’s note: losing my mind because i'm in dire need of a theo nott italian summer.

Step 2 of Pansy Parkinson’s Perfect Plan of Plotting

Forced Proximity — : A circumstance or situation that forces the two main characters to spend time together (whether they want to or not).

After watching a horrendous amount of muggle romantic comedies — thanks Granger — I have come to the conclusion that the best way to squeeze a confession out of two lovestruck idiots is by forcing them to share the same space for an extended period of time, like say, the honeymoon suite in a romantic villa by the Italian coast. Never mind that I had to bribe stupid Malfoy with fancy imported French cologne to achieve it. It was worth every galleon to shove Theo and Y/N into a space designed for newlywed couples, complete with a heart shaped tub, champagne on ice, and a balcony that overlooks the stars at night. There’s a reason why forced proximity is such a popular trope. It’s effective as all hell, plain and simple. 

Second Year, The Black Lake

A misty fog cloaked the Scottish Highlands, bringing a dark and dreary atmosphere to Hogwarts and its surroundings. Back at the castle, your friends huddled around the hearth in the common room, drinking Zabini’s fancy imported hot chocolate and catapulting marshmallows at each other across the velveteen couch. On any other day, you would have welcomed the warmth and comfort on a rainy Sunday, but today you were needed elsewhere. 

As you trudged through the black sand, the coins in your raincoat pocket clinked together. You brushed your thumb over the raised surface and willed your heart to stop beating so erratically. There was no reason to be nervous. Yet here you were, dragging your feet as a familiar figure came to view.

On the shore of the Black Lake, Theo hugged his knees and stared out into the water. The raindrops gathered on his lashes and drenched his hair, bringing out the waves he stubbornly gelled back every morning. 

“I like your hair better this way,” you said softly, smiling down at your best friend. 

Theo smiled shyly as he brushed his hair back. “I look like a drowned rat.”

“Just a little,” you teased, pinching his cheek. “In any case, you make a cuter rodent than Malfoy.” 

“It’s about time someone knocked him off his high horse,” Theo retorted before tugging you down next to him. 

The sand shifted beneath you as you settled in. Theo pulled the hood of your jacket up, frowning when he noticed that the rain had still soaked your hair. “What are you doing out in the rain, anyways? You’re going to catch a cold, fragolina.” 

“Says the boy who’s soaked through the bone,” you replied with an eye roll. “You really shouldn’t be out in this weather, you know. Godric forbid you come down with something. Nonna would be furious.” 

“Good thing she’ll never find out,” Theo said, nudging your shoulder. “Because I have a best friend who’s great at keeping secrets.” 

“For now. Though I’m not opposed to selling you out for the right price.” 

“Fair enough.” 

A comfortable silence settled as the two of you gazed at the murky waters. As Theo contemplated the cloudy horizon, you rubbed the coins in your pocket. For good luck or comfort, you weren’t sure. 

“You didn’t have to come out here,” Theo whispered. His hands shook as he reached out for yours. “But I’m glad you did.” 

A heavy weight settled in your chest, but you forced yourself to smile softly as you squeezed his hand in reassurance. “I didn’t want you to be alone.” 

The look that Theo gave you was heartbreaking. His gaze was full of pain, those familiar watercolour eyes lined with unshed tears. “I never am when I’m with you, Y/N.” 

Tears pricked behind your eyes, but you tampered it down and allowed Theo to lean against your shoulder. 

“Do the others know?” 

You shook your head. “No, I didn’t think you wanted them to. Not yet, at least.” 

“I’ll tell them one day,” Theo said. “When it doesn’t hurt as much. But for now, it’s enough that you know. I think she would have liked it that way.”

“Just me and you against the world,” you chuckled. “The way it’s always been.”

“The way it’ll always be.” 

“I miss her,” you confessed. Speaking the words felt like bringing heartache to life, but you knew that it was important to keep her memory alive. The anniversary of Evangeline’s death was full of sorrow, but there was also joy if you looked past the pain. Your mum always reminded you of that. “The other day, I saw a patch of daffodils out by the forest. They were bright and sunny, impossible to miss in all this dreariness. It felt like an act of rebellion. It reminded me of her.” 

Theo released a choked laugh. “She would’ve loved that.” 

“Mum thought so too,” you said in agreement. “I wrote to her the other day. She knitted you another pair of socks, by the way. Before you ask, yes, I have matching ones as well.” 

Your best friend snickered. While you adored your mother, knitting was definitely not her strong suit. You didn’t have the heart to tell her that though. 

“It’s a bit ironic that the head of the Department of Mysteries can’t solve the mystery of knitting, isn’t it?” 

You stifled a laugh. “I’ll be sure to mention that to mum in my next letter.” Theo chuckled as you crossed your legs underneath you. “She told me something interesting though.” 

“Yeah?” 

The coin seared into your skin as you gripped it tightly. You could hardly get the words out because you were so choked with emotion. “The last time she went to Fiera with Auntie Eva, they visited this temple. The Temple of Cupid.” 

Theo nodded, enraptured. “Mum told me about that too. There’s a legend about a fountain in that temple. La Fontana Dell’amore.”

“The fountain of love,” you continued. “It’s said that if you toss a coin into it, Cupid will grant you a wish. The two of them both threw their coins in there when they visited.” 

“I think I remember this story. Mum said that they both wished for true love. Your parents met on that same trip, right?” You nodded in confirmation. “I’m happy for your mum. Especially since Zio Alistair is my only ally against all you crazy women.” 

In response, you smacked him on the arm. Theo protested, biting back a smile. Your best friend blinked at the horizon, deep in thought. “Mum’s wish didn't come true, though. I don’t think anyone would ever call my father her true love.” 

“That’s the thing, Teddy,” you said softly. “Auntie Eva was already married to your dad when she made that wish.”

Theo turned towards you. His nose crinkled in confusion. The trait was so uniquely Theo that it softened something within you. “Then why did she toss the coin?” 

You brushed a wet strand of hair out of his eyes and smiled. “Because she was wishing for you.” Theo took a sharp breath as he gazed up at you. You felt your heart shatter into a million pieces as the first tear fell down his cheek. “Mum said Auntie Eva’s wish came true the day you were born. You are, and always will be, her true love.” 

All the sarcasm and smirks — the armor that Theo had built around himself cracked. Suddenly he was sobbing, launching into your arms and clinging onto you for support. You bore the weight of his grief, so dense and tangible that you could feel it permeating the air. It wasn’t fair that your best friend was already acquainted with this earth-shattering pain at such a young age. If you could, you would bottle up his sadness and pour it into yourself just so Theo would be spared from ever feeling it again. 

“I miss her so much,” Theo whispered. 

“I know, Teddy,” you replied, rubbing soothing circles onto his back while you rocked him. “Just let it out. I’m here for you.” 

Theo pulled back, sniffling. “I’m here for you too,” he rasped. “I know you’re being strong for me like a good best friend, but you lost her too.”

The words unlocked a fresh wave of grief within you. All this time, you tried your best to keep it together. You wanted to be there for Theo. You couldn’t afford to fall apart. It wasn’t something that he’d ever asked of you, but you thought it was the right thing to do. 

“You’re allowed to mourn just as much as I am.” 

A deep, wracking sob rattled through your chest. You missed your Auntie Eva. You missed the way she braided flowers into your hair. You missed the way she snuck you gelato before dinner, knowing that your mum would have a fit if she found the two of you scarfing straciatella down in the kitchen pantry like criminals. You missed the way she told you and Theo about the stars, pointing out the different constellations as you lay on the roof of Nott Manor. 

You slumped into Theo’s arms, burying your face in the crook of his neck as the two of you clung to each other like a lifeline. It was you and Teddy against the world. The way it always was and the way it’ll always be. 

Day Two, The Temple of Cupid

The sunshine was blinding as you blinked yourself awake. Across the terrace, Enzo and Mattheo were cuddled up underneath a blanket while Draco and Blaise curled up on opposite sides of the sofa, clutching the ends of their shared knit throw in a power struggle. Thanks to the sangria, the lot of you had fallen asleep drinking and gossiping the night away. 

Beside you, Theo stirred and snuggled closer, his arm draped around your waist possessively. Sometime in the middle of the night, you had seemingly pulled the bottom half of the blanket over to your side, leaving his long legs exposed. Theo always complained that you were a notorious blanket hog, which you vehemently denied. Given the proof, you doubted that you could refuse it now. 

As you adjusted to the light, the double doors flew open, revealing a fresh-faced and well-rested Pansy. You had no idea how she managed to look so pulled together when you could barely see through your sangria induced headache. Her lips curled into a satisfied smirk when she spotted you and Theo tangled together. Out of instinct, you flipped off the smug looking witch. 

“Is that any way to treat your savior?” Pansy asked as she set down a tray full of sparkling vials. She clapped her hands, the loud smack echoing through the terrace. The boys startled, groaning about their hangovers. “Good morning, heathens. As always, I brewed a special batch of anti-hangover potions mixed with a little hint of pepperup to get you lot going. Drink up, we’ve got a long day ahead of us.” 

In true Pansy Parkinson fashion, the witch managed to wrangle everyone out of the villa and into a private yacht with minimum complaints. The potion was certainly doing a lot of heavy lifting, but even without the aid, it was hard to be annoyed when you were too busy marveling at the charming coastline. 

Vallara was a wonder. The hills rolled over the horizon, kissed by the bright sunshine. The colorful tiled villas dotted the sky with cotton candy hues, which grew smaller and smaller the further you ventured out into the water. The sea was calm this morning and the cerulean blue waters sparkled as the yacht cut through the waves like butter. 

At the bow, Enzo and Mattheo peered over the railing, giving you a pang of anxiety. You already warned them to stick close to the deck, but it fell on deaf ears. You yelped as Mattheo dangled Enzo backwards off the rails. Blaise and Draco shook their heads as they each claimed a spot by the sun deck. Just as you scolded the boys again, Pansy and Theo came back up from the bottom deck carrying trays of food. 

“Enz! Matt! Food is ready,” you shouted, heaving a sigh when the two of them finally stepped back from the rail. 

“Were they doing Titanic again?” Pansy asked with an eye roll. 

“Worse, they were trying to dangle each other over the water,” you responded as you handed each boy their breakfast trays. 

“We were trying to look for sharks,” Mattheo countered with a pout. “Until you started yelling at us.”

“Yes, so sorry for stopping your extremely idiotic behavior. I suppose I should’ve just let you throw yourselves overboard.” 

Enzo grinned like a little kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He took the breakfast plate from your hands and kissed your cheek. “Sorry, Y/N. We just got too excited.” 

You sighed and ruffled his hair. “One of these days those puppy dog eyes will stop working on me, Berkshire.” 

The brunette beamed brightly. “Not today, though.” 

“You spoil him, you know,” Theo said as he handed you a glass of orange juice. 

“I can’t help it. He’s like the little brother I never had.” 

“More like a pet you never wanted.” 

“Hey!” Enzo protested as he waved a piece of bacon in the air. “I heard that, you twat.” 

“See?” Theo said with a sigh. “Your beloved Lorenzo is not as innocent as he pretends to be.” 

You chuckled, watching Mattheo and Enzo wrestle over the last waffle before Pansy stepped in to straighten them out.  

Scooting into the seat next to Theo, you took a sip of the orange juice and balked at the taste. The bubbles were enough to make you want to spit it back out. The drink was more champagne than juice. After the sangria, you weren’t prepared for alcohol so early in the morning. Theo snickered as you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. 

“Keep up, bella. Where’s the Y/N that used to double fist firewhiskeys at the common room parties?” 

“She’s still asleep, Theodore. For Merlin’s sake, it’s not even noon.” 

“Fun waits for no one,” Theo said before snatching the glass out of your hand and downing the entire thing in one gulp. 

“Oh, you’re going to regret that. I don’t want to hear about your tummy ache ten minutes from now.” 

Theo stuck his tongue out and continued scarfing down his breakfast. You finished yours slowly before joining Blaise and Draco out on the sun deck. According to Pansy, it would be an hour or so before you reached your destination, which gave you plenty of time to tan. Stepping out of your cotton dress, you adjusted your bikini and laid out on the beach chair. 

“Pans, will you put suncream on me?” Mattheo whined from the next seat over. 

Pansy twisted her nose up in disgust before sighing in defeat. It was easier to get it over with than argue. The two of you learned that the hard way over the years. She lathered the suncream on Mattheo’s back, half-heartedly patting it on. When she saw Theo step out into the deck, you saw the gears turning in her head. 

“Theo, will you put suncream on Y/N?” Pansy asked with feigned innocence as she handed the bottle over to him. 

You flushed as Theo looked over at you, his gaze sweeping over your tiny scarlet polka dot bikini. The tips of his ears turned just as red as he swallowed. 

“Um, I don’t know if that’s — “ 

“Pans, it’s really not necessary. I’m fine.” 

“Nonsense.” The witch shook her head, dismissing your statement. She leveled Theo a calculated gaze. “You wouldn’t want her to burn, would you?” 

“Of course not. I just —” Theo tripped over his words as he turned to you. “Is that okay with you?” 

“I’d be more than willing to rub you all over if Theo isn’t up for the challenge,” Mattheo said slyly. 

“Don’t even think about it,” Theo snapped. 

Mattheo and Pansy smirked at each other, watching as Theo carefully approached you. Clearly, they were both rather pleased at baiting Theo into reacting. Your best friend perched on the edge of your lounge chair, looking bashful. 

“May I?” 

Without a word, you nodded shyly. You didn’t trust yourself to speak. Not when he was this close. His hands hovered over your back, the warmth of his skin seeping into yours. Theo gently applied the suncream on your shoulders, massaging the product in with care. He averted his gaze while he worked, the tips of his ears burning the longer he touched you. 

You felt just as flushed as you forced yourself to sit perfectly still. This was ridiculous. It wasn’t like you and Theo rarely touched. In fact, you were quite affectionate, as every single one of your friends loved to point out, but it was different when you were practically half-naked. Squirming in your seat, you waited until Theo finished massaging the cream all over your back. 

“I think that’s good,” Theo said softly. 

You nodded, placing your hands in your lap. Mattheo cocked his head, a smirk forming on his face. “Do you want Y/N to do you next?” 

Theo looked panicked. “What?”

“The suncream, mate,” Riddle replied with a shit-eating grin. 

Fortunately, the captain announced your arrival before Mattheo could insinuate any more innuendos. As the ship docked, you peered at your gorgeous destination. The island was straight out of a storybook. The lush green jungle surrounded the base of a volcano, which spilled out to the white sands and turquoise shore. Instantly, Pansy called the group to order and announced the itinerary. The plan for the day involved dolphin watching, cave exploring, and a picnic by the beach. She ordered the boys to set up in the private cabana she rented, which they did so begrudgingly. 

Theo began to follow them, but Pansy stopped him short. “Not so fast. I booked something else for you and Y/N. You can join us afterwards.” 

Without further explanation, Pansy handed Theo a map, a blanket, and a picnic basket. You began to protest, but your friend merely waved off your argument. “Trust me, it’s worth the trek. You’ll thank me later.” 

As Pansy walked off, you and Theo were left to stare after her. You grabbed the map from his hands and squinted, gauging how far this little side quest was going to take you. 

“It doesn’t seem too bad,” you mused. “Just a little bit over the hill and we should find whatever it is Pansy has in store for us.” 

Theo nodded. “You know I never back down from an adventure.” 

“Not true,” you corrected. “You refused to go to the Forbidden Forest with me in third year.” 

“That’s not fair, bella. First of all, Sirius had just escaped Azkaban and sure, we found out that he wasn’t a psychopathic murderer later on, but how was I supposed to know that at the time? Second of all, he was hardly the biggest threat out there. Need I remind you of the spiders? They’re horrid little beasts.” 

“All I’m hearing is that Theodore Perseus Nott is a chicken.” 

“You take that back, Y/N.” 

You stuck your tongue out before breaking off into a sprint. Slowed down by the blanket and basket, it took Theo a few seconds to catch up with you. Alongside the hill, you followed the winding staircase that you assumed led to the peak. Theo shouted after you, promising to tickle you to death as punishment. 

“You’ll have to actually catch me first.” 

The taunt was short-lived as you reached the final step, turning around to gloat only to lose balance. Out of instinct, Theo dropped everything and reached out to break your fall. His strong arms wound around your waist, holding onto you for dear life. You clutched onto his shirt, the very breath leaving your lungs as you looked up. Theo stared down at you, his expression full of worry as he scanned over you. He released a sigh of relief when he determined that you weren’t hurt or injured. 

“Dio mio,” Theo exclaimed. “Don’t scare me like that, bella.” 

“Sorry Teddy,” you murmured, shakily regaining your balance. Theo brushed your lower back as he helped steady you, sending shivers down your spine. “I got a bit distracted.” 

His short-cropped waves tickled your cheek as he held you a beat longer than necessary, his blue eyes imploring. There was something alluring about them, like hearing a siren’s song after years and years of being lost at sea. Up close, you could map the constellations of freckles on his nose, brought forth by the Italian sun. Growing up, Theo detested them, often deeming them girly, but you always thought that they were cute. 

Your gaze fell to his lips, which you now realized were moving. Presumably asking you a question. “Hm?” you responded absentmindedly.

“Stick close to me, yeah?” 

You nodded as Theo guided you by the small of your back, leading you up the halfway point. From your vantage point, you could see the yacht docked on the shore. The boys were running around and playing in the water while Pansy lounged under the cabana. 

Up ahead, the path grew more narrow, forcing you and Theo to press up against each other. The summer heat beamed down on you, its warmth heightened by the boy leaning over your shoulder. Theo squinted at the map, his breath cool on your neck while you shifted your weight from one leg to the other. 

“This place looks familiar.” 

“I was just about to say that.” 

As you examined the map, Theo stalled to a halt. “I think I know why,” he said as he gestured to the entrance up ahead. “We’re here.” 

Atop the hill sat a beautiful garden, flanked on four sides by trimmed hedges that led into a labyrinth. The front gates shimmered golden in the sunlight, the curlicue letters spelling out a familiar name — Tempio de Cupido. You scanned the map in your hands, astonished that you hadn’t realized where you were until this moment. 

This was Fiera island. The same exact place that your mum and aunt Evangeline visited all those years ago. No wonder Pansy wanted the two of you to go alone. Theo picked the blanket and basket back up, staring at the entrance in awe. You reached for his hand and squeezed. 

“Shall we?” 

Theo swallowed thickly, his gaze heavy with emotion as he followed your lead. Together, the two of you made your way through the labyrinth, marveling at the sweet smelling flowers weaved into the lush walls. The path underneath you was white marble, surprisingly untouched by the dirt and grime. Vines crawled on either side, the green ivy moving on its own accord as if to guide you to the center. 

The temple stood proud and tall, its pillars looming overhead like a marble sentry. Inside was a statue of Cupid, his wings draped behind him as he held his bow taut. Heart shaped arrows littered his feet, flowing right into the fountain that took up the middle of the temple. 

Theo’s eyes widened as he turned to you. “Is that what I think it is?” 

You nodded in confirmation. “La fontana dell’amore,” you murmured softly, tracing the plaque beside it. “We have to make an offering.” 

“But we didn’t bring any coins.” 

The map in your hands glowed, revealing a secret message. Shake me. You followed the instructions and shook the paper, finding two golden coins sitting ready in the palm of your hands. 

“Leave it to Pansy to think of everything.” 

With a grin, you handed Theo a coin. He held your hand tightly and watched as you brought the coin up to your lips, kissing the edge of it like your mum told you she did during her last visit. Theo did the same, his eyes glassy and far away as though he were thinking of his mum too. 

“Make a wish, bella.” 

You closed your eyes and spoke your wish into the silence before tossing the coin into the fountain. The coins clinked together before hitting the water, shimmering iridescent as it sank down to the bottom. Theo gripped your hand tighter, a reminder of what this moment meant to the two of you. You squeezed back in reassurance, not needing any words to communicate the charged emotions surging through you. 

After a moment, you looked up at him and smiled. “What did you wish for, Teddy?” 

He grinned slyly. “If I tell you, then it won’t come true.” 

“Fair enough.” 

Beyond the fountain, depictions of the lore of Cupid were carved into the marble walls. The great love stories of mythology filled the labyrinth. Orpheus and Eurydice. Tristan and Isolde. Achilles and Patroclus. Finally, Cupid’s own story with Psyche. Each couple was in their own way, a tragedy. 

“Isn’t it strange that the god of love fell in love with the woman he was meant to curse?” 

“Ordered by none other than his mother, no less. Mythology does love its convoluted tragedies.” 

The irony of Cupid’s mother Venus commanding her son to strike Psyche with one of his infamous arrows so that she’d fall in love with a hideous beast only for the god to then fall for the young princess himself wasn’t entirely lost on you. Despite the trials and tribulations they faced, the dreamer in you admired their story.

“Still, Psyche persevered through the trials Venus put her through and became a goddess. In the end, her and Cupid reunited and solidified their union. It’s the story of immortal love.” 

As you spoke, you traced over the ancient script craved underneath the depictions of the couple. 

“Love wounds and inflames the heart.”

“I disagree,” Theo said. “Love isn’t supposed to hurt. It heals, it stitches your wounds back together, it mends the pieces of your broken heart until it’s whole again.”  

In that, you found no argument. You could feel Theo’s gaze landing on you. Those watercolor eyes that you knew better than your own. Those freckles that you traced over and over again until you committed them to memory. Those lips that spoke soothing words in your ear after a nightmare. 

The gods and goddesses may have their ballads and tragedies, but you had something far greater. 

With a smile, you nodded. “Love feels like home.” 

After exploring the temple grounds a bit more, you found the perfect spot for a picnic. One of the acolytes pointed you to a massive lemon tree, encouraging you to use the shade for an afternoon snack. 

You thanked the young woman for all her help. “Grazie mille.” 

She clasped your hands and smiled. “Mi scalda il cuore vedere l'amore giovane abbellire questo tempio. Possa Cupido benedire la vostra unione.”

As she walked away, you asked Theo for a translation. You understood a bit of Italian, but it required close concentration and the acolyte had spoken far too quickly for comprehension. 

“She said you’re welcome.” 

“Seems like she said a bit more than that.” 

Theo shrugged nonchalantly as you narrowed your eyes in suspicion. He rounded the lemon tree and spread the blanket underneath its shade. In turn, you began unpacking the food that Pansy had so graciously prepared for you. Theo sat cross-legged beside you while you prepared him a plate of bruschetta. Thanks to magic, everything stayed perfectly fresh. 

The two of you ate under the shade of the lemon tree, the citrus breeze ruffling the flowers before you. You wondered if your mum and aunt sat here in this very spot, admiring this very same view. 

“It’s strange, isn’t it? Being here, I mean. I almost feel like we’re seeing a glimpse of the past.”

Theo nodded, taking a sip of his limoncello before handing it over to you. “Maybe they saw a glimpse of our future. You think they knew that we’d make our way down here someday?” 

You took a generous gulp, indulging the tanginess of the drink. The view was picturesque with the temple standing tall above the peak of the hill while the sun rose high and bright over the labyrinth. Beside you, your best friend leaned back on his elbows and drank in the sight. 

“I think so,” you murmured softly. “Though I wasn’t quite prepared for how beautiful it all is.” 

Theo glanced over at you, his voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah. It really is beautiful, isn’t it?” His voice was thick with emotion as he intertwined his fingers with yours. “I’m glad that I’m here with you. I think mum would’ve been, too.” 

“Me too, Teddy. I feel her here. Watching over us.” 

You could’ve sworn that the sun shimmered a little brighter and the flowers bloomed beautifully, confirming Evangeline’s presence. This seemed exactly like the kind of place that she’d love. Out of the two of them, your mum always said Eva was the more adventurous one. You always thought that it was because she was a little bit like magic herself. 

“I feel her everywhere, but especially in this place. It’s like fate brought us here.” 

The words brought a smile to your face. In your friendship, Theo tended to lean on logic. His pragmatism was the balance to your constant daydreaming, but in this place, it was impossible not to believe in things like fate. 

“Don’t tell Pansy that, she already has enough of a god complex as it is.” 

Theo chuckled. “I don’t think she was alone in orchestrating this. I’d bet a billion galleons that nonna helped plan this.” 

“Wow, a whole month’s worth of your inheritance? How generous of you.” You giggled as Theo dug his fingers into your side, viciously tickling you. Gasping for air, you swatted his hands away. “Plot or not, I’m glad they schemed to make this happen.” 

A comfortable silence fell as the two of you passed the limoncello back and forth. Down in the gardens, the acolytes tended to the flowers, pruning each one to perfection. Their sheer pink gowns shimmered in the sunlight and on each of their chest was an embroidered scarlet heart, surrounded by golden arrows that signified their patron. 

“Teddy,” you whispered softly. “Do you truly believe in fate?” 

A soft breeze ruffled the lemon tree as Theo shifted beside you, sending his waves to flop right over his eyes. “Yes, but I haven’t always.” 

“What changed your mind?” 

“Second year,” he replied matter-of-factly. “That day at the Black Lake. Do you remember?” 

You nodded. It was the first anniversary of Evangeline’s passing. One of the toughest days in your young life. “Of course, Theo. How could I forget?” 

“Before you came, I asked my mum for a sign. Something to tell me that she was watching over me somehow.” Your eyes welled up with tears as he smiled to himself. “Then you came and found me. You told me that story and I knew.” 

“You knew what?” 

“I don’t know if it was fate or my mum or the universe, but someone sent you to me.” Theo’s eyes shone with emotion as he tucked you close. “I think they knew how much I needed someone like you in my life. Whoever or whatever it is, I’m thankful. You held me together that day. If it weren’t for you, I don’t think I would’ve made it this far. Thank you, bella.”

You sniffled, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye. “Me and you against the world, right?” 

“The way it’s always been and the way it’ll always be.” 

After soaking up the sun a little while longer, it was finally time to head back. You offered to help Theo carry the supplies, but he wasn’t having any of it. Instead, he tucked the blanket into the handle of the picnic basket and held out his hand. 

“I don’t want you to fall again, bella.” 

With a shy grin, you intertwined your fingers together. Theo led the way, making sure to carefully guide you through the winding path. He toyed with the emerald ring on your finger as the two of you walked, his own rings clicking against yours. 

When you joined the others, your friends were back aboard the yacht. Pansy explained that you would be going to the other side of the island to sightsee the dolphins. After helping her herd the boys, the two of you finally had some peace and quiet as you settled on the lower deck. Pansy pushed her sunglasses down and raised a brow at you. 

“So, how was it?” 

“It was beautiful,” you said, already missing the temple. “Thank you for setting it up. It really meant a lot to Theo. To both of us.” 

“Anything interesting happen while you two were at the temple of love?” 

“I know what you’re getting at, Pans,” you said as you shook your head. “But Theo and I just talked about our mums. How great it was to do something that they did together all those years ago. It was special, you know? I’ve never felt closer to Aunt Eva.” 

“Good, it was meant to be a bonding experience. Nonna said it would bring you closer together.” 

“It has.” You side-eyed your friend. “So you did plot with nonna to make this happen?”

Pansy didn’t even try to deny it. “Mhm, she says she doesn’t have long on this earth and that you two needed a push. She’d like to meet her great-grandchildren while she still has her strength.” 

You flushed deeply. “Pans! You can’t just meddle in our business like this.” 

“Of course I can.”

“How many times do we have to tell you? Theo and I are just —”

“Friends?” Pansy finished with a scoff. She nodded towards Theo, who was looking up at you with a huge smile. He flushed when you met his gaze, shielding his eyes from the sun but refusing to look away. “Yes, because friends sneak pining glances at each other all the time.” 

“We’ve known each other since we were children.” 

“And?” 

“What if it messes up our friendship?” 

“You never know if you never try.” 

“Yes, but —”

“What did you wish for in that fountain, Y/N?” 

At that, you fell silent. Pansy crossed her arms, a satisfied grin tugging at the corner of her lips. Fortunately, you were saved from further interrogation when the boys squealed at something up ahead. 

“Fragolina,” Theo called from below. He waved excitedly, nearly tossing his binoculars over the railing. “I found one for you, come look!” 

Pansy shot you a knowing look, which you pointedly ignored. She followed after you as you joined the rest of your friends. On the lower deck, Theo beckoned you over to him. You allowed him to position you behind the railing, holding the binoculars for you as he pointed out into the horizon. 

To your delight, you saw a dolphin breaching the water. It flipped gracefully into the air before diving down into the depths again. Theo talked your ear off and you listened to every word, mesmerized by the random facts that he was spouting. 

From the corner of your eye, you saw Pansy shaking her head at you before she mouthed exactly what she thought about the sight of the two of you getting lost in your own little world once again. 

Just friends my arse.

The waves crashed against the craggy rocks as the boys headed for the caves. The stalagmites jutted up from the earth like daggers, dotting their path with its sharp edges. Inside, a magical ball of light guided their way. Mattheo led the pack while Draco grumbled at the thought of getting his brand new boat shoes dirty. 

Theo rolled his eyes. “Who buys three hundred galleon shoes just to go cave exploring?” 

Mattheo snickered. “You know how Malfoy is. He’s a fussy little git through and through.” 

His friend climbed the slippery rock, dangling overhead. Theo followed suit, never one to be outdone by his best mate. Like clockwork, his idiotic stunt hadn’t gone unnoticed. Somewhere behind them, Theo heard your voice echo through the cave. 

“Teddy, don’t climb on there. You’re gonna slip and get hurt.” 

“I’m a grown man, fragolina. I’m fine!” 

Beside him, Mattheo dangled towards another rock and swayed towards Theo. “Soooo,” he said in a sing-songy voice. “You two were gone for a while. Have you finally manned up and made a move?” 

“No, you prick. We visited this temple that both our mums went to years ago. It was actually really nice.” 

“Oh yeah,” Mattheo drawled. “Pansy told me all about that. The Temple of Cupid, right? You’re telling me that you and Y/N went to the temple of the literal god of love and nothing happened?” 

“It’s not like that between us.” 

“But you want it to be.” 

Theo remained silent as he climbed higher to catch up with Mattheo. In the distance, he heard the sound of rushing water. He followed it, catching a glimpse of the blue lagoon that twisted all along the cave network.

“For fuck’s sake, mate. We’re in Italy. This shit is romantic as fuck. What the hell is holding you back?” 

“I don’t know. We just graduated and there’s a lot of things going on.” 

“That’s the same excuse you’ve given since I’ve known you,” Mattheo said with a frown of disapproval. “You know she’s not going to wait forever. Even when we were back at school, there were already plenty of blokes interested in her.” 

“Like who?” Theo asked in a dead serious tone. 

Mattheo shrugged, purposely staying silent to annoy Theo. He hauled himself over to the next rock over and crouched. “Weasley, Diggory, Pucey. Hell, I had a crush on her at one point.” 

“What?!” Theo exclaimed. 

At his outrage, he missed his step and slipped. Theo hissed when his back scraped against the rock. Even through his shirt, the rough, jagged edges stung against his skin. 

Mattheo chuckled. “You’re too easy, Nott. I was just fucking with you. Of course I never had a crush on Y/N. She’s like my sister. The others, though. Them you need to worry about.” 

Theo fought the urge to smack his friend as Mattheo hoisted him up. He debated tripping him over to see how he liked it, but the others had already caught up with them. Too many witnesses. 

You bounded up to him, concern marring your expression. “What did I say?” 

Despite the scolding that Theo knew you were dying to give him, you gently lifted his shirt up and examined the scrape carefully. “You’ll be fine,” you murmured. “I’ve got some healing cream we can apply when we get back and you’ll be good as new, okay?” 

Theo pouted. “Okay.” 

Finally, you sighed and relented. Theo grinned as you leaned up and kissed his cheek. “Just be more careful next time, okay, Teddy?” 

He nodded and smiled. “Okay.” 

Behind you, Mattheo smirked and made kissy faces. What an immature twat. 

Theo responded by giving him the middle finger. 

Later that night, Theo returned to the villa feeling weary yet glad. While he certainly had fun dolphin watching and cave exploring, nothing topped visiting the temple. Theo wished you could’ve stayed underneath that lemon tree forever. It was a memory he’d cherish for the rest of his life. 

As he washed away the remnants of the day, Theo found himself thinking of you. The way you looked at him underneath that lemon tree. Today was special for the both of you. A turning point in your friendship that was impossible to ignore. Even the acolyte commented on the obvious connection between you, cooing over young love. She wished Cupid’s blessing over the two of you, but Theo knew that you didn’t need it. He had known it for some time now. 

With a smile, he dried off and slipped into his pajamas. “Y/N? I’m ready for your expert healing now.” 

As he walked out into the suite, he found you curled up on the love seat with an open book in your lap and the healing cream curled around your fingers. You must’ve fallen asleep while waiting for him to finish showering. His heart softened at the sight. The day had been long and eventful, no doubt tiring you out. 

Wordlessly, Theo put away the book and carefully carried you to the bed. Earlier, you insisted on sleeping there instead of the bed, which Theo vehemently opposed. There was no way he was letting you sleep on the bloody sofa. You stirred in his arms, burying your face in his neck. Theo smiled softly to himself before he set you down. Instantly, you curled up against the pillow. Theo tucked you in and pulled the covers over you as gently as possible. 

Leaning down, he kissed your forehead and smiled. “I wished for you, bella.”

[bookished]

( a collection of summer is ending starters or dialogue prompts. adjust phrasing as necessary.) feel free to make edits to better suit your muse, but please don’t edit or add on to the original post ♡ if you like, please consider supporting me through tips

"The sun feels different today, like it’s saying goodbye."

"Every time the summer ends, I feel like the wind tries to tell me a secret, but I never quite hear it."

"Did you notice how the colors of the sunset have started to fade? It’s like the sky is getting ready for winter."

"The cicadas fell silent today. Do you think they know it’s the end?"

"The lake looks quieter now, as if it knows it’s time to sleep."

"I swear the shadows have gotten longer. It's like even they know the sun won’t be around much longer."

"I can feel the summer slipping through my fingers, like the warmth in the breeze is fading away."

"The ocean feels colder today, like it’s pulling away from the shore."

"The last of the fireflies are flickering out. I wonder if they know this is their last dance of the season."

"It smells different now, don’t you think? Like the earth is getting ready to sleep."

"The flowers are closing earlier each day. Do you think they know the season is ending?"

"I miss the sound of summer already. The air doesn’t hum like it used to."

"Do you feel it too? The way the light is softer, as if the sun is tired."

"The wind today feels like a memory, like it’s carrying the last whispers of summer."

"The days are shrinking. It’s like time itself knows summer is ending."

"The sunflowers have turned away from the light. It’s like they’ve already given up on summer."

"The sky feels higher now, like it’s pulling away from the earth."

"Every evening, the air smells a little more like autumn. Summer’s slipping through the cracks."

"The crickets sound different tonight, almost like they’re playing a slower tune."

"I saw the first fallen leaf today. It feels like summer is already a memory."

"Do you remember how we danced in the rain that night? It felt like the summer clouds were celebrating with us."

"We spent so many afternoons chasing the sun across the sky. Now it’s slipping away from us."

"Every time we went to the beach, the waves played with us, like they knew we only had a little time left."

"Remember when we stayed up all night, watching the stars? I think they burned brighter just for us."

"That bonfire on the last night of August… it felt like the flames were trying to hold onto the warmth of summer with us."

"I still hear the echo of our laughter from that day at the lake. Do you think the water remembers us?"

"We ran through those fields as if summer would never end. Now they look so still, like they’re waiting for us to return."

"The ice cream melted too fast, the sun set too late, and we never really noticed the days slipping away."

"Remember how the sand felt like it was alive beneath our feet, like it was trying to pull us deeper into the moment?"

"We spent the whole summer chasing sunsets, never catching one the same way twice."

"Do you think the fireflies miss us? They followed us through every twilight, lighting up our path."

"The nights were so warm, it felt like the stars were sitting with us, whispering secrets we’ll never remember."

"We picked so many wildflowers, I’m surprised the fields didn’t run out."

"The last picnic we had… the air was so sweet, like the wind had collected all the fun we’d had and wrapped it up in the breeze."

"We built sandcastles like they’d last forever. Now the beach looks so empty without them."

"We never needed clocks. The long days felt like they’d never end."

[celesterayel]

midnight secrets | luke castellan

pairing : luke castellan x nyx!reader

request: can you write about luke and a daughter of nyx? <33

IN WHICH — he knows only one true thing: you put all the stars to shame.

"now I just wanna stay here and fall into midnight. Want nobody else now, only you, feel right" - a.

w.c. 1.9k

warning(s) : soft ゜✭・.

✩ ‧₊˚ author's note can you tell when I was younger I had fallen in love with the night and the idea of it? cuz I did. very much so, I'd say. also water, always loved the concept of it--the fragility and softness of it, like a balm against my skin.

long, long ago you learned of the sea of stars and their stories, from which rose their beginning and end. the stars were beings of heat and fire; they were beautifully mortal and alive.

they danced upon the domain of zeus; showering the sky with lights when night fell and befitting the world with their glow.

but as the sands of time bade the next and the corners of the sky dulled, the toll of living and breathing became too much. and so in the vast space of nothingness among the empty silence, the stars took on the duty of protecting a human and god: following where they might go, to every lifetime and universe as if they could erase the tragedy of the divine that swam through their blood.

and when each stars’ child died and their soul followed its ache to finally rest, the star would fall out of the sky in a blazing trail of destruction and divinity to taste freedom one last time and meet them in the next life.

there had been something raw and gruesomely alive about the stars when you learned of the story and so everyday, you’d trapeze the mortal line between night and sleep to watch them in absolution. you yearned to find an answer as to why? why would such immortal and imposing celestial beings like the stars willingly ruin themselves for us humans, for us beings that hungered for war and found pain like a symphony?

you learned your answer when you met luke castellan, your own tragic star who would follow you when the blood of the gods stopped flowing through your veins and your existence came to its calamitous end.

you had spent most of your life curiously confused as if there was something missing that made you feel broken; a piece of the puzzle that made drizzles seem like hurricanes and everything seem like an unsolvable mystery, constantly itching at your skin as if you just needed to pull back the layers and scratch.

and then, one day it stopped.

the buzzling in your head faded and you seem to finally just be.

luke castellan was the rain before the storm, the pain before the raw scream; every fatal, holy thing that meant absolution and destruction in the same manner. a price you were willing to pay if it meant loving him.

and you did–love him that is. every part of you ached with love for your golden boy who had weathered storms like they were his prison and had wanted like it was a fatal wound that might never heal.

you first met the golden castellan boy nearly a year after coming to camp where you were claimed to be a child of the night and stars, the goddess nyx; an absolution of divinity that you would be every dark, enchanting thing he would know. you were the only thing that would allow the hurt in him to finally cease its dance and just allow him to simply be.

while the blood of the gods flowed through your veins, the peace only night could bring was your cover. it was every paceless sleep spent at the docks praying to your mother for one more star to keep its dance, it was heaven and heartbreak in the same measure.

when both man and monster fell to slumber, it was the knowing that eventually everyone would cease their dance sooner or later.

people would watch you like you were a painting come to life as the moon basked you in waves of starlight and the forest came to life in your presence. when the night grew tired of its waiting and the stars lost their way, it was you coaxing them back to life to the restlessness all beings underwent.

you were a creature of presence and peaceful destruction, misfortune and desire–every loud, unsaintly thing the brown-eyed, dimpled boy had thought.

and he was your exact opposite: bold, bright and charming like the sun. it was as if hermes had threaded gold through his veins and ichor had poured forth to create whatever celestial thing luke was. a type of burn only the sun could bring when you went off to your death.

the night had settled upon the camp long ago and so nothing but the loudness of silence and pensive dreams continued its echo. except for the child of the night and her sun who seem to find balance between the bumbling and the glow of the soft moon.

luke grabbed your hand and threaded his fingers, clutching you tightly as if you’d disappear with the breeze and never return.

he guided you to the docks where the river reflected back the divinity of the night sky and lapped gentle waves against the shore. you sat side by side, silently basking in the quiet.

breaking the silence, he asked, “what’s wrong?”

what was wrong? you didn’t quiet know. there was just a sort of cloak of discomfort that had settled over you that you couldn’t seem to shake off.

“do you ever wonder what’ll happen next?”

you settled his hand in your lap and grabbed it like it was a lifeline, tethering your aching body back to the living when all you wanted was to fade. he only rubbed the back of your knuckle, soothing the skin and the bone-deep itch all at once.

you turn to gaze at him, and suddenly you were jealous of the moon and how it shined so beautifully on him like it was made for him to bask under.

he turns to look at you, “before no. now…every moment, i begin to think what makes us so different from humans that we suffer tragedy while they can live how they please and without the cruelty of the gods. I think about what will happen when i finally pass on from this life to wherever my soul may go.”

you don’t think you could handle leaving this world after him. it was a type of pain that would kill you inside out, you decided. you knew it.

there is vulnerability in him that speaks out, “and then i dream that none of that matters because someday you and i make it out of here. out of this place and away from gods and monsters.”

you only grab his other hand and the one you currently have trapped and place a kiss upon each of the palms, embedding all the affection you have for him in that moment. it is something so humanely lived that the world stops moving and the gods see a love for the ages.

he plucks you up from his side and merely places you in his lap, wrapping you tightly in arms like there is no war spreading and reaching it’s claws from the horizon toward the two of you.

you simply close your eyes, soaking in the boy who's holding you like you are a divine being.

“open your eyes and show me the stars, pretty girl.”

all he can think is the moon and stars, which you've fallen in love with so many times has nothing against you. and suddenly your staring the biggest star in the face, wondering if in another life you were the moon and he was the sun king.

but when he kisses you, you realize no. he is simply the star that will follow you when your bodies turn to ash, being picked up by the breeze. and there is only the secret that luke castellan would allow himself a thousand years of destruction if it meant following you where ever you go.

you two are simply a star and his love.

[yamumsyadadd]

the forgotten girl (10)

Originally posted on my old account. Uploading twice weekly :)

The following morning I woke up to a pounding headache, Keira sleeping peacefully next to me. My eyes hurt, a tell tale sign that I’ve been crying. My suspicions were confirmed when I made my way to the bathroom. Red, swollen eyes. The memories were a little fuzzy, I remember dancing with Misa and Alba, Alexia pulling me outside, she was mad? I remember she said she loved me. 

Alexia loved me. I loved Alexia. 

As I paced back and forth in the bedroom, unable to stop because my brain was going so fast, Keira slowly woke up. 

“Milly what are you doing? What time is it?”

“Tell me she didn’t say she loved me outside the club last night?” 

Signing as Keira looked at her phone “it’s only 6am, please come back to bed. It’s too early for this.”

“No no no no. Keira this can not be happening. This is bad. Very very bad. I shouldn’t have come back.” 

“Hey Mil. Stop. You love her. You always have, so what’s the problem?” 

“The problem? The problem is that I can’t love her Keira! It’s not a fucking option. I need to go. “ 

“Milly wait!” keira got up as fast as she could. But it was too late. I was gone, out the door. I couldn’t go home, that was the first place she would go. The gym would be the next, the beach would be the last placed she go, especially considering it was raining now. 

After I had left, Keira rang Lucy panicking. Lucy rang Ona, who rang Claudia, who rang Patri, Patri rang Mapi and Mapi rang Alexia. It’s safe to say everyone started to panic. Thinking I was running away again, the thought was there but I couldn’t do that to the team. 

Surfing was freeing for me. Sitting on the board, pretty far out gave me a chance to think without anyone around. I loved Alexia, but this didn’t feel right. None of this felt right. I had always dreamed about some fairytale ending for us but it never happened. Maybe if I had listened to her and not married Emily, things would be different. We only lasted a month, does that even count as being married? I wasn’t particularly interested in catching the waves, just wanted to think without anyone around to disturb me. As I made my way back to land, I noticed her. Drenched, sitting in the wet sand. 

“Everyone’s looking for you.” 

“Well tell them to stop. I’m not lost.” My tone was harsh, I didn’t mean for it to be. Not really. 

“Mil, we need to talk about it.” 

“Talk about what Alexia? You being jealous last night? You and Olga breaking up? You being in love with me? Me being in love with you? Pick a subject and I’ll talk.” 

“You love me back?” Whispering, She looked at me wide eyed, almost as if I’d take it back. I would. 

“Pick a different one.” 

“No. I want to talk about the fact that you’re in love with me too.” 

“I’m not doing this.” I tried to walk away. I couldn’t do this. 

“Don’t walk away from me Amelia!” I stopped. Not turning around to look at her, I couldn’t. “Please stop running away from me Mil.” The last few words came out broken. She was crying. 

“Why can’t you just let me love you? That’s all I want Mil!” 

“Because every time you say that all I see is her! I could’ve let you love me before Emily! But I didn’t. Instead I’m the reason she’s dead and the reason your heart was broken. All I see when I look at you is the pain and destruction I’ve caused but you look at me like I put the stars in the sky. So full of love and care. I can’t do that Alexia. It’s too much.” 

Suddenly arms wrap around me, not alexia’s because she’s standing in front of me. “Hija, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Eli. The mother I never had. 

“It’s too much Eli please.” 

“Come. I will take you home. Alexia, let’s go please.” 

“Mami no.” 

“Now Alexia.” 

Alba was waiting at my apartment when we arrived. It was all too much. Alexia’s family treated me like their own, despite the pain I’ve caused, the devastation I’ve caused. They were soft, too soft. 

I headed straight for the shower. Ignoring the way Alba looked at me, or the way Eli called out to me. I needed to be alone. This isnt what I wanted to have happened. I hoped that after all this time Alexia wouldn’t love me and I could pretend to not love her. 

The shower was scolding hot. Even through my clothes which I didn’t bother to take off. I thought it would make me feel better, feel something. I didn’t realise how much time had passed until Alba came in. 

“Mil? Are you okay?” Silence. “Milly?” No response. “Amelia I’m coming in.” The alarm in her voice got the attention of Eli and Alexia. 

“Milly can you hear me? Fuck this water is boiling.” Alba tried turning it off but it was too hot. 

“Move Alba. Get me a towel.” Alexia turned off the water, taking the towel from her sister. “Can you get me some clothes for her and give us some space please?” Without even realising it, Ale had picked me up and taken me to the counter. 

“I’m going to undress you now, okay? If you need me to stop tell me and I’ll stop straight away.” All I could muster was a nod. 

There was nothing sexual about it. She moved as quickly and carefully as she could. Removing my shirt and bather top, drying me then putting an old oversized shirt on, carefully lifting me up to remove my skirt and bather bottoms. I flinched when she did that, hoping she didn’t notice but she did. 

“Do you need me to stop?” She pulled away quickly, noticing my eyes screwed shut. Shaking my head, she continued. She quickly pulled my underwear up, then lifted me up and carried me to bed. As she was about to leave I stopped her. 

“Ale please stay. Don’t leave me, please.” I begged. 

“I’ll be right back bebé, I’m just getting some water.” 

She was right back, putting a water bottle on my side, plugging my phone into the charge, then making her way to the other side. Climbing in and pulling me onto her chest. That’s how I fell asleep. The exhaustion of what happened last night and today hitting me. 

[velvetbeeez]

𝑌o𝑢r𝑠 𝑒t𝑒r𝑛a𝑙l𝑦… 𝓥𝖆𝖒𝖕𝖎𝖗𝖊 𝖉𝖗 𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖗𝖔

Born to mourn, to dream...but to never sleep

౨ৎ . . .

In the midst of a harsh cold thunderstorm on a moonless night there echoed a cry of a babe, a princess. her first cry was a prophecy, bitter as truth and sharp as a firefly's light. The astrologers folded their charts in silence. Her fate, written in bone and sand, could not be rewritten.

They raised her in silk, mahogany, gold & silence…Her eyes learnt to read men’s smile before she could learn to write. By five, she walks around the castle, tracing her footsteps so she never gets lost, by ten she falls into a monotonous pattern of life, by 13, she weeps like a widow. Lost in a loop.

Her father, the king, with firm words set in stone, and laws thrown like worn out clothes, promises her to the son of a noble, a rich young man, loud- voiced, drunk on his own shadow, pride as swollen as the sun. The match was sacred, sealed by wax, turmeric and trembling hands of mothers…

Despite that, In the hollow of her heart, something rings, and chimes. She was made for more…

As the monsoon calls for the yearly festival of seven days, It brings the scent of wet earth, of rebirth, of things buried long ago rising in the night. But this year, the sky carries more than rain. It carries something heavy, humming low in her marrow. Hope. Something so forbidden, so out of touch for her. Dreams, in which she hears an unknown yet familiar voice, sees a hazy, inviting face… nightmares she calls them. The seven day festival begins, and with it, the gates of the city swings open like a wound. Boats drift in from distant lands. The air is brought to life with music, spice, and foreign tongues. Her father’s castle is brimming with guests from across the lands and seas. That is when she sees him.

Pale as twilight, with eyes like flaming emeralds, too alive, too cold. He calls himself Edmund from Greece, but she knows lies when she hears them. Something changes when his eyes land on her. It feels like he has forever been there, watching her from the shadows…

He speaks to her first beneath the silks of the spice pavilion. His voice is too even, too knowing. She replies with clipped words and sharpened stares, but his smile lingers like a wound that refuses to bleed. He plays the game with an elegance that infuriates her, his subtle flirtations, the ways he twists her own words to fluster her, the way he tilts his head when she pretends not to see him, the lazy grace with which he spars words as though born to it.

She despises him because he makes her forget the chains she had learnt to wear on her wrists like bangles. She despises him because he makes her stumble, stutter and lose the stillness in herself that she had mastered for years.

A day or two later, a duel takes place in the silence and privacy of the secluded weapons’ room. Clashes of swords ring in the castle…an attempt to push him away. But his cold sharp sword lands on curve on her neck, a kiss of ice.

She tries to forget but forgetfulness is not a luxury cursed daughters can afford.

The days pass slowly, painfully, with burning of hearts and stolen glances.

Then, on the seventh evening, the stars were dimmer. The winds were sharper, the whispers were louder. The world turns.

Her fiance, bloated with drink and bruised pride, finds her alone in the moonlit balcony. Words turn to fists. Her voice breaks. Her wrist bleed against the golden railings. And then, snap, something inside her shatters like a mirror. A knife. a scream. Silence haunts.

She runs. Wherever her steps take her. Past the festival fires, past the textile stalls, the spice lingering in the air, the music, the ghost of her past self.

The river waits for her, endless, blue, cold and deep. It calls to her. She wades in…or tries to.

And he is there. Edmund. He holds her. Promises an eternity, freedom, and his devotion. Offers her his world. His icy, dead heart.

She should recoil, turn back, run to her father’s palace, fall at his feet, sob and beg for forgiveness. But she does not. That life is not for her. She carries the weight of stars beneath her ribs.

So, under the weeping clouds, he sinks his canines into her slender naked neck. Gently. Like a prayer. Sealing a pact written before the dawn of time.

They vanish into the midnight. Travelling along with the stars.

The people searched for their princess for long, some say she drowned in the river, some say she lives like a commoner in some hut. Some say she was a witch who burned in her own sins.

But she travels the world with her immortal lover. Castles in Transylvania, markets in Tokyo, pyramids in Egypt, crowns in England. It is all theirs.

No one knows about them. No one wants to. Some creatures are meant to be unknown, to never be found, to bask forever in their own sacredness.